Chapter Five
Tabula Rasa
"Cast your sorrows to the wind
Let the highway take us in
As we escape the disorder."
—"Brand New Start," Alter Bridge
The path Roderick led them down was little more than an overgrown game trail, nearly lost to time and nature. All of Haven and the surviving Inquisition trudged before him, the strange boy and Chancellor leading them all down a path that only a dying man could see. Even here, snow mingled with ash as it fell. It was trampled to a slush by hundreds of feet and Cullen wished for nothing more than someone to cover their tracks. The last thing they needed, should the Herald fail, was the army of red templars following them. It would be a massacre.
Solas appeared at his elbow them, seemingly unbothered by the cold in his thin robes and bare feet. With a tight nod, the elf turned and began enchanting the snow, shifting it in a rush of his prickly, icy magic. Their tracks vanished, lost to the world.
"There will be no hunting parties now," Solas said. He continued to cast, working quickly and quietly as they plodded forward.
The slogging pace set Cullen's teeth on edge. All he wanted to do was scream his impatience at the slow-going of the wagons laden with supplies and the wounded. Except for their moans and the howling wind, all was silent.
Carts were tugged through the snowy terrain, and some quickly broke down. Those that did were unloaded and abandoned. The martial side of him hated leaving this trail of breadcrumbs that would lead right to them. Another part of him—the one that yearned to run his fingers through Katerina's spiraling curls and shield her from the ills of the world—hoped the abandoned carts would lead her back to him.
His legs burned with the cold and the discipline it took to hold himself back from running ahead and shooting up a flare to fire the trebuchet. The Chant puffed quietly from his lips, the whispered words lost to the screeching wind. The only evidence of his prayer was the white mist of his warm breath in the frigid air.
'Please,' he prayed with all he was. 'Please let them—let her—come back.'
They made it above the tree line at long last, and Cullen quickly gave the order to have an arrow shot high. Vivienne lit it with a snap, her magic making it burn stronger and brighter the higher it flew. The Herald had to have seen. She had to.
Everyone waited with bated breath for something to happen. For any sign that she lived. Each heartbeat lasted an eternity until, finally, a missile was launched with a whistling scream to hit the mountainside. The onlookers stood silently as the mountain gave a booming crack. After everything, she'd succeeded. It started slowly at first, roaring and sliding until it crescendoed to a massive rush. The avalanche thundered down towards Haven, white and inescapable.
An angry shriek rang out over the sounds of destruction, a dark shape taking flight from the field moments before Haven was swallowed in a sea of white. It was gone. The silence nearly echoed, the howling wind the only sound as they stood riveted in horror. The home they'd known for the last few months was gone, and so were their defenders. The Herald of Andraste given her life for them, stood against a dragon and the Elder One for them. And now she was gone.
Cullen's shoulders bowed under the weight of that knowledge. Cassandra, his unlikely friend and trusted confidante, was gone. She was the only one who knew about his efforts to break the burning addiction to lyrium. She'd brought him into the Inquisition in the first place, trusting him to lead and give fair advice despite his checkered past.
Dorian and Blackwall, two unlikely recruits who'd quickly found something—someone—to believe in, were gone.
And Katerina. Young, self-assured, powerful Katerina. She was gone. The woman with the most awful luck who inspired people to be better, to follow, to dedicate themselves to a larger cause—she was gone. She carried the whisper of possibility, the faintest promise of success against all odds. Katerina made the people around her—made him dare to hope and want more. Gone.
'If you bring her back to me, I'll be a better man. I'll truly be better,' he promised whoever might be listening.
He wasn't entirely sure how they got there, but Leliana's scouts led them to a small glen shielded from sight by rocky crags and a thicket of trees. No one could see them from the ground. With Haven lost in the avalanche, they hoped the Elder One would lose interest in them—he'd gotten what he wanted. The Herald was dead. Snippets of the dark future Katerina had seen in Redcliffe echoed in his head, and Cullen knew he had to resign himself to that fate now. It was inevitable.
Soldiers quickly set up camp and had fires burning for everyone to huddle around. Cullen heard himself barking orders and organizing tents, directing mages and Chantry sisters alike to tend the wounded, rationing supplies—but none of it registered with him. Everyone had a task, everyone bustled about to see work done, but Cullen couldn't repeat his orders if he tried.
"I've sent scouts back to watch for any sign of being followed," Leliana intoned to the Commander and Josephine. "They'll signal if anyone manages to track us, whether friend or foe."
"Good. I've begun an inventory of our supplies," the ambassador said, her wind-teased hair lending her a worn appearance. "I expect we'll begin seeing desertions in the morning, though. Let me post some trustworthy people around the supplies—"
"Yes, no thefts. We can't afford it." Cullen dragged a hand over his face, scrubbing at his stubble. "I'm going to keep watch with the scouts."
"Cullen—" Leliana started.
"I've already set a patrol schedule and orders for what defenses we can muster," he nearly snarled at the redheaded spymaster.
"I was going to say that I'm coming with you." She arched one unimpressed brow at him, clearly unfazed by his outburst.
"Oh. Very well."
With that, they gave a few final orders to their people and grabbed a blanket each before wading through the snow to a quiet position in the pass. The snowstorm raged on around them, flames crackling and nearly blowing out in the gale. The howling wind and clouded skies made it impossible to know how much time had passed. Cullen began measuring it in heartbeats. He counted to two thousand before any signal was sent.
Someone was coming.
He drew his sword and Leliana fitted an arrow to her bow, waiting silently. Another signal—friendly. The two hardened fighters allowed themselves to relax, though their weapons remained drawn.
Three figures approached, the two heavily armored silhouettes seeming to support the third through the snow drifts.
"Cassandra," Leliana called, stepping forward to greet her friend.
"He's injured," the Seeker replied, voice tight with exhaustion and waning adrenaline.
"Dislocated shoulder," the Warden added gruffly as he deposited the mage by the fire. "Though he complains enough you'd think he'd lost the arm."
"It's not your arm hanging out of its socket now, is it?" Dorian spat back, glowering at the two warriors and waving off the scouts examining him.
Cullen knelt down to take their place as the spymaster ordered them back to their posts. He wasn't so easily shooed away. "How did it happen?"
"Blackwall tackled me into crates full of mining equipment and pop! There went my arm," the mage groused, shooting a sour glance at the Warden. "I've never complained about a rough roll in the hay, as you southerners so delicately put it, but that was not what I expected."
"He tackled you?" Cullen asked, feeling about the wounded shoulder and testing the muscles.
"Yes." Dorian hissed and glowered at the blond soldier. "It's dislocated—stop touching it."
"Why?" the Commander pressed, ignoring the mage's commands and continuing his examination.
"Blackwall is surprisingly clumsy for such a skilled warrior." Dorian hissed in pain before elaborating. "He did it to avoid the dragon, naturally. The blasted thing circled, spitting that unnatural flame, and—" Cullen used the other man's distraction to force the limb back into its socket, eliciting a shout of pain. "—Maker's balls, I loathe you!"
"It is done," Cassandra said, finally kneeling down by the two men. She waved a thick strip of a shredded blanket and quickly tied a sling for the man's injured arm. "Keep it like this and have Mother Giselle examine you. Blackwall?"
With a grunt, the Warden hefted the mage up once more and lead the younger man towards the main camp. They quickly faded into the darkness of the storm and the thick of the night, leaving only the Inquisition's founders behind.
"Where is the Herald?" Leliana asked quietly, certain they wouldn't be overheard.
"We were separated from her," the Seeker replied matter-of-factly. "The dragon descended, spewing fire—something was wrong with it. Like Dorian said, it was unnatural—and the Herald ordered us to run. We did, and it landed between us and her. It nearly crushed Dorian, but Warden Blackwall pushed him clear in time. It didn't care about us, never even looked at us once it had her separated."
"Then what happened? Could you see or hear anything?" Cullen could hear the urgency in his voice as he questioned his friend.
"Very little." Cassandra sighed heavily as she knelt nearer the flames. "Someone was riding the dragon and he—he called her 'pretender.' Katerina asked him why he was doing this, and he called himself 'the Elder One, Corypheus.' He wanted her to kneel."
"And did she?" Leliana asked.
"No." Cassandra shook her head with a rueful smile on her lips. "He wanted the mark, called it 'the anchor.'"
"Why?" Cullen wondered aloud, frowning at this new revelation. "Because it can close the rifts?"
"I do not know. We tried to circle back around, to help her, but she waved us away. She ordered us to leave, Cullen." Cassandra rose then and met her friends' eyes, her own gleaming with anger and unshed tears. "Katerina was defiant to the last, that much I know. I could hear her taunting it, the defiance in her voice."
"She died a hero," the spymaster murmured, staring into the dying flames. "Come. We should return and tell Josie."
A high-pitched ringing filled his ears as the women kicked snow over the flames and he scanned the sky for the dragon before realizing it was safe. He was in shock. She truly was gone. Numbly, he followed them, allowing himself the trek back to the main camp to grieve that which never existed outside of his most secret, most forbidden dreams.
Josephine's eyes widened at the news of the Herald's demise, but she quickly agreed to remain in place until the storm abated. There was nothing they could do but wait. The storm made moving impossible, and the biting cold froze even the hardiest temper. Leliana planned to send a few of her people back to Haven in the morning to salvage anything that survived the avalanche and, if possible, find the Herald's remains. Cullen envied them their action, the little things they could plan and organize. He envied their distraction.
Patrols stood guard, tramping through the snow to the only pass into their little glen and back to the quiet camp. Dispirited and disheartened, the people either tried to sleep or stared blankly ahead. Shock gripped them all, and hope seemed all but lost.
The familiar itch between his shoulder blades kept Cullen awake and moving. He couldn't sit still. There were injured soldiers to share words with, maps to examine to try charting their way out of the mountains—though that required knowing where 'here' was, an impossibility in their current predicament. He had to work, stay busy, keep moving. If he didn't, he feared giving in to the same despair already settling over the camp.
He quickly exhausted what little he could do in camp and relieved a few patrolmen, sending them off to their bedrolls. Just because he couldn't sleep didn't mean they should be similarly punished. His second trek to the mouth of the passage was joined by Cassandra and the Warden. They all shared a nod of understanding: Sleep eluded them too.
No one said a word as they walked. The frigid air was biting and the snow lay thick on the ground. The wind whipped about them, casting shadows and creating shapes in the swirling flakes that were gone even before they'd fully registered. Mournful howling mixed with the wind, becoming more and more prominent as the bitter gale slowly died out.
The trio soon reached the rocky entrance, not expecting anything. He spied movement ahead and his heart skipped a beat. Could it be…?
"There!" Cullen cried, rushing forward as quickly as his tired legs could in the deep snowdrifts. "It's her!"
"Thank the Maker!" Cassandra exclaimed. She followed in his wake, eager to drag the Herald back to safety and warmth.
She'd fallen to her knees in the cold, unforgiving snow. Dark circles rimmed her eyes and she clutched one arm to her chest. Cullen reached her a heartbeat ahead of the others, catching her before she fully collapsed. The Warden tried to lift her away from the other man but was quickly shouldered aside as Cullen rose with her in his arms.
"Am I dead?" Katerina slurred. She nuzzled closer to him, greedily burrowing into his warmth.
"I'm afraid not," he replied softly. He followed behind the others, taking care not to jostle her too much. They had no idea what sort of injuries she might have sustained, and Cullen did not wish to cause her further pain.
Her warm breath puffed against the exposed skin of his neck, steady and reassuring. This was real, she was real. The Maker had sent her back in their hour of need, and now she was in his arms. Maybe it was foolish, but Cullen felt a renewed sense of hope.
"Mm you smell good," she murmured, the words barely audible even when they were practically whispered into his skin.
The tip of his ears heated while a shiver rocked his spine, and Cullen was certain his face was red. What could he possibly say or do in response that wasn't wildly inappropriate? She was talking nonsense. It had to be exhaustion and delirium spurring her words. A fully conscious Katerina would never allow herself to be caught saying such things aloud.
'But she already had,' that snide voice whispered in the back of his mind, taunting and superior. 'Twice. She "likes your passion."'
Cullen stamped out those thoughts. He would not allow himself to dishonor her like that, much less threaten the validity of the Inquisition after suffering such a massive blow. There were more important things to see to—her health chief among them—and he would not let himself be distracted. He was already compromised by cutting off his lyrium intake, he would not allow his mounting attraction to the Herald compromise him further. There was simply nothing to be done about it, and that was that.
Almost in defiance of his new resolve, a thin arm wound its way about his neck as Katerina nestled closer to him. His stomach lurched and he swallowed jerkily. The feel of her soft curves pressed against him would haunt his dreams for weeks to come.
Back in the camp, people thronged together to see her. Whispers and exclamations of relief swelled as she was carried to the Chantry sisters. Cries of jubilation, thanks, and despair at the sight of her limp figure echoed in the frozen landscape, but Cullen paid them no mind. All that mattered was getting her attended to.
Solas and Mother Giselle stood ready, ushering the man carrying the Herald into a small tent where a cot sat beside the smoldering brazier. It was pleasantly warm, a stark contrast to the nearly frozen woman curled against him. Cullen gently laid her down, careful of the arm still clutched over her middle as he disentangled them.
"Katerina," the elf called. His brow was furrowed when she just groaned. "Katerina, you need to wake up."
The woman whimpered, forcing her eyes to open to thin slits. Her pale irises were a stark contrast to the deep purple circles rimming her eyes. She was wan and drawn, so pale that Cullen could see the delicate web of blue veins under her skin. The Herald looked awful.
"Good, now follow my finger." He moved one finger before her eyes, noting their movement and dilation as she tracked the long, pale digit. "Very good."
"Her arm is broken," Mother Giselle said. "It will need to be set. And her ribs are bruised; they will be painful for some time, my dear."
"Can you conjure a flame?" Solas asked next as the Chantry sister slipped out of the tent. He demonstrated the request with a flick of his fingers igniting a tiny, dancing flame in the palm of his hand.
Katerina made to copy the motion, screwing up her face as she sought to bring forth her own magic. Nothing happened. Cullen didn't even feel the signature tug on the Veil or the minty rush of her powers. She was tapped out.
"Think I used it all up to keep warm," she rasped. "It's so cold…"
The apostate patted the stack of blankets folded at the foot of her cot. "We must undress you, warm you without the wet clothes. We must check for frostbite. Do you understand?"
She nodded feebly, face tight with the effort of staying awake.
The mother and another sister arrived and quickly shooed the two men away. Neatly folded clothes and fresh boots were carried alongside bandages and splints. A steaming bowl of stew and a steaming mug of tea were also brought along. A few hisses and uttered curses sounded from inside the tent as the women helped her out of the wet armor. It felt like forever before they allowed anyone else inside, and the others had gathered to wait.
When they were allowed in, it was only Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine allowed. The tent was simply too small to permit anyone else to come in. The two women quickly ducked in and could be heard greeting the Herald with words of relief, but Solas gestured for Cullen to hang back.
"Here," the elf said, pressing a vial into his hand. "Give this to her. The lyrium will help her restore her mana—she must have depleted it searching for us."
Cullen looked down at the silvery liquid sloshing in the glass. It practically hummed against his skin, warm and promising. His tongue felt too thick for his mouth as he watched it, torn between drinking it himself and flinging the vial into the nearest fire.
"She needs it," Solas said, voice low and that discerning gaze of his seeing more than was necessarily invited. "It will help her feel safe to have her magic back and humming under her skin."
His fingers tightened about the cool glass and he nodded tightly. She needed it. He did not. It was that simple: He would always do and be whatever she needed. With that, he joined the others to hear the Herald's tale.
Katerina told them about Corypheus, about his plans to tear down the Veil and sit on the Maker's throne. She told them about his determination to find another way to do it—the anchor was permanent and could not be undone, she said. She'd foiled his plans, but not his intent. That was singular.
While she talked, recounting the Elder One's speech and the details he'd fed her, Mother Giselle worked to set her arm and bandage the injured limb. Matching bandages peaked out from beneath the loose collar of her linen shirt—some deep scratches marred her back from one of the red templar beasts and her bruised ribs screamed with every breath. That didn't stop her from telling them everything.
Katerina talked until every answer to every question became the same: "I don't know."
It became a refrain. Her frown deepened every time she said it to the point that a scabbed over cut in her lip reopened. She winced at that, dabbing the blood away with a scrap of bandage. It was then that Mother Giselle chased them away.
Cullen hung back, his earnest worry stopping the older woman's protest before it began. He awkwardly perched himself on the edge of her cot. The lyrium was still grasped tightly in his hand, practically burning him through the glass.
"Here," he said, holding it out to her. His knuckles were white, so he quickly withdrew his hand and hoped she hadn't seen. "Solas thought this might help."
"Thank you," she replied, her voice still rough from all the talking and the freezing air. She quickly downed the lyrium and slowly started to feel its effects. "It will still take some time for my magic to come back fully, but this is better than the nothingness."
"I'm glad…" He reached out, lightly brushing a single finger over the curve of her ankle hidden beneath mountains of blankets. "I'm glad you're alright."
"Did everyone make it out?" Katerina asked, her wide, tired eyes meeting his.
"Casualties were far lower than they could have been, though we're still waiting for the full list to be completed." He rose then, unable to trust himself not to say something foolish in the privacy offered here. "I should—"
"Cullen." She stopped him in his tracks with the single word. "I'm glad you're alright too."
He shot her a small smile before disappearing to talk with the others. It devolved into shouting and circular arguments far quicker than he'd expected. The relief of her reappearance quickly wore off and tensions ran high, compounded by everyone's lack of sleep. They sniped and criticized, often not even letting the others complete a thought before going off. It was a disorganized mess. It lasted for hours, either uncaring or unaware that the people around them were trying to sleep.
Katerina woke to Cullen's raised voice biting back at Cassandra and the others. The four leaders stood under the tent opposite hers, lit with the dancing firelight as they shouted fruitlessly at one another. She raised herself up on her good arm to watch, shaking her head as their words got lost in the fight.
"You need rest," Mother Giselle said softly, tugging the blanket up a little higher around the mage.
"They've been at it for hours," she replied wearily.
"They have that luxury, thanks to you." Her dark face was calm, serene even, in the midst of all the discord. "The enemy could not follow, and, with time to doubt, we turn to blame. Infighting may threaten as much as this 'Corypheus.'"
The name sounded strange in the sister's lilting accent, ominous, even. It sent a shudder through Katerina, ending with a small hiss of pain. Her whole body hurt—one ache simply melted into another, all one stinging, swirling mass of discomfort. The only part of her that didn't hurt was her hair.
"Do we know where Corypheus and his forces are?" Katerina asked, pitching her voice low. She didn't want anyone to realize she was awake for fear of being dragged into the argument too. Though it seemed to have gone quiet for the moment. Maybe she was in the clear.
"We are not sure where we are. It may be why, despite the numbers he commands, there is no sign of him." The sister shook her head as she spoke. "That, or you are believed dead. Or, without Haven, we are thought helpless. Or he girds for another attack. I cannot claim to know the mind of that creature, only his effect on us."
"If they're arguing about what we do next, I need to be there." She tried to rise with a groan before falling back. Her breaths came in short, shallow pants as her abdomen screamed in protest.
"Another heated voice won't help, even yours—perhaps especially yours." Mother Giselle placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and continued to talk in that soothing voice of hers. "Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand… and fall. And now we have seen her return. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear—" She helped the Herald into a sitting position, careful of her battered body "—and the more our trials seem ordained. That is hard to accept, no? What 'we' have been called to endure? What 'we,' perhaps, must come to believe?"
"I escaped the avalanche," Katerina said, squeezing her eyes shut as she remembered the rush of snow licking at her heels and sending her flying, flying—falling down, crashing down, and of digging herself free of the snow and debris. "Barely, perhaps, but I didn't die."
"Of course," the other woman said, her sharp eyes picking up on the man nearby pretending he couldn't hear them talking as he paced. "And the dead cannot return from across the Veil. But the people know what they saw. Or perhaps what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment and in how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are not with us?"
"You saw Corypheus." Katerina nearly spat the name. "What do you think of his claims of assaulting the heavens?"
Mother Giselle even had a ready answer for that, never once losing her composure. "Scripture says magisters, Tevinter servants of false Old Gods, entered the Fade to reach the Golden City, seat of the Maker. For their crime, they were cast out as darkspawn. Their hubris is why we suffer Blight, and why the Maker turned from us. If such is the claim of this Corypheus, he is a monster beyond imagining. All mankind continues to suffer for that sin. If even a shard of it is true, all the more reason Andraste would choose someone to rise against him."
"Corypheus said he found only corruption and emptiness, nothing golden." She shook her head, trying to stop it spinning as she sought to reconcile their enemy's words with the stories she'd heard since childhood. She found them difficult to believe, but so many did—that it might all be real, be true left her reeling.
"If he entered that place, it has changed him without and within. The living are not meant to make that journey," the older woman told her. Her voice was soft but carried the edge of conviction. "Perhaps these are lies he must tell himself rather than accept that he earned the scorn of the Maker. I know I could not bear such."
"Mother Giselle," Katerina said, watching her warily. "I just don't see how what I believe matters. Lies or not, Corypheus is a real, physical threat. We can't match that with hope alone."
Cullen heard it all, watched as her agitation drove her to rise and walk slowly, painfully away. She didn't believe herself to be Chosen, that much was clear. Any faith she had—assuming she had any—was clearly shaken by her experiences. The weight of expectations sat particularly heavy tonight, having only increased after the destruction of Haven. He could see her shoulders bowing under it as she moved away. His heart twisted to see it.
Everyone stood alone, fidgeting and staring into the distance as they mulled over their options. They were too few. They were lost, limping, and left with an endless list of tasks that were impossible to accomplish. Silence hung heavy over the camp. All was lost.
But then a rich alto filled the air, singing a Chantry hymn that was mournful and hopeful at once. She sang alone into the night, ignoring the turning heads and curious glances. A lilting soprano soon joined in—Leliana, the Herald realized—and then an unexpected baritone from Cullen. Before long, the entire camp was singing, raising their voices in unison as they sang a song of hope.
It took Katerina aback to watch everyone gather in song and the sudden shift in mood. Mother Giselle stood at her side as the singing ended, everyone standing there and staring, whispering. People bowed before her, and it took everything the mage had not to turn tale and flee. The sheer number of eyes on her made her skin prickle and itch. She'd never wanted any of this.
"An army needs more than an enemy," Giselle said softly, her words nearly lost in the shuffle. "It needs a cause."
With those parting remarks, she drifted away to tend to the wounded and exchanging nods with those she passed. Katerina was left to watch her go and hope to fade into the background. A tap on her shoulder had her whipping around. Solas tilted his chin and she followed.
Cullen stared after her as she followed the elf into the night before turning back to their maps. He had to figure out where they were and where they could go. The sun was peaking over the horizon when a throat cleared from the other side of the table. The Commander's eyes flew up to see the elf standing there beside the Herald.
"Oh, it's… you," he said lamely, shaking his head to stop himself from staring.
"Solas may have something we can use," Katerina said. Her voice was rough with the events of the night.
"An ancient fortress a few days' march from here." The apostate watched the other man evenly, his sharp eyes not missing the flush to the soldier's cheeks or the way his eyes continually darted to the young woman across from him.
"Go head and mark it on the map. The others should hear this." He found a young soldier and sent him scurrying off to gather the others before turning back to the two mages. "What can you tell me about this fortress?"
"It was once known as 'Tarasyl'an Te'las' and it straddles the border between Orlais and Ferelden." Solas shrugged and titled his head for a moment before continuing. "My people once used it in ancient rituals, but it has since been lost to history. Little else is known about the fortress."
"A fortress?" Josephine asked through a cracking yawn as she joined them. "How far?"
"A week's journey," Cullen replied quickly noting the markers the elf had placed on the map.
Leliana and Cassandra joined them then as the plans flew. They quickly made lists and asked Solas to lead them through the mountains. It was with a renewed energy and sense of purpose that they talked, all previous agitation forgotten. Hope wasn't lost, and neither were they. Not anymore. The Herald and her elven companion had offered them direction, offered the Inquisition a chance at survival.
She'd saved them yet again.
Solas's next revelation had the advisors sharing uncertain glances but did nothing to dampen their newfound optimism. Elven magic had created the Breach, allowed the Herald to close it. It had been misused but it was elven, nonetheless. They would have to take steps to prevent that information from leaking, to protect innocent lives against undue hatred. Such a distraction could compromise their entire mission.
The lists were growing, but there was promise in the mounting burdens. The sun was inching higher in the sky when everyone finally broke to get some much-needed rest. It would be a day of recovery and then journeying to Solas's fortress.
Cullen returned to his tent and carefully removed his armor before laying down. Despite closing his eyes and settling in, he could not find rest. His mind swirled with the templar horrors he'd seen and cut down at Haven. How many of them had he known in his old life? And Samson was leading them. That could only point towards disaster.
With a heavy sigh, he allowed his eyes to open to stare at the oiled leather ceiling. If they'd approached the templars, this might never have happened. Or Corypheus would have still had "his mages," as Cole had phrased it, and they'd have fought corrupted mages instead. Maybe the destruction of Haven was inevitable. It didn't matter. Haven was lost and the Inquisition was facing its newest challenge. It left his skin itching and head thrumming as his thoughts chased themselves around in never-ending circles.
Scrubbing a hand over his dry, heavy eyes, Cullen flew up from his cot to pace the perimeter of their encampment. The frosty wind bit through the cloth and leather to bite his skin without the armor to protect him, but he didn't care. His feet carried him through the fallen snow towards a break in the rocky surrounds.
The precipice overlooked a sloping valley, dotted with trees and the silvery flash of a frozen stream. It was hard to believe such an untouched scene could still exist after recent events. It was utterly devoid of rifts and demons, no templars patrolled. The only living thing was a lone bird circling overhead.
Quiet crunches announced someone was approaching. He turned to face whoever it was and stilled when he saw it was her. The morning light gave her skin a rosy tint, her dark hair a stark contrast to the mounds of white around them.
"Cullen," she said in greeting as she came to stand even with him.
"Herald."
She sighed at his formal address and folded her good arm over her belly. "Please don't call me that. I hate it when people call me that."
He shot her a glance from the corner of his eye, uncertain how to respond. She was tired and bedraggled from her misadventures. The braided bun she normally sported had fallen loose in a tumble of curls that seemed deflated in the dawn.
"What should I call you, then?" he asked after a beat.
"You could use my name." She shrugged and stared over the valley below. "Or 'Rina.' It's what Aid—my family used to call me."
"I'll leave that for them." Cullen's voice was soft and kind though she didn't dare look at him. "Katerina… you should be sleeping."
"That doesn't mean I can." She shifted beside him, her face tight as she held back every fear and 'what if' that had been running through her head in an endless parade.
He turned fully toward her, reaching out to steady her as she wobbled. Heat blossomed in him then, like a flame flickering to life in a hearth and licking up to caress everything it touched as his hands settled on the soft curves of her hips. She stilled at his touch, at his nearness as their breath mingled in the frigid air.
"Be careful," he said with an uncomfortable shake of his head. Cullen forced himself back once he knew she wouldn't fall. "Cassandra would have my head if anything happened to you now."
"I'd be more worried about Leliana," Katerina joked back, peering up at him with squinted eyes.
Something strange happened at his touch—something fluttering and warm filled her and went cold when his hand dropped away. He did look dashing in the bright morning sunlight, all flashing gold and amber wrapped in warm furs and buttery leather. The man really was like honey in coloring and attitude: He was warm and comforting, familiar but carried a little heat.
Her eyes went wide as she realized: She was attracted to the Commander. Nothing else would explain her waxing poetic. Maybe it was simply because she'd been without a lover since years before the Circles fell, maybe it was because of the way he'd nearly purred her name.
"Why can't you sleep?" Cullen asked then, determined to distract himself from the pink coloring her cheeks before he embarrassed himself further.
That certainly dampened her warm thoughts. "Do you think my brother is among the red templars?"
He stilled at that, instantly regretting the question that made her voice that thought aloud. "It's possible, though I pray it isn't true. We'll find out. Once we're able to regroup at this new fortress, I'll do everything I can to find him for you."
"Thank you for not coddling me or lying." Katerina nodded stoically, forcing her rising fears down. If she gave them the chance, they'd choke her from within.
Cullen saw the flicker of dread before she shuttered her expression once more. This thought was one that would keep her up in the days to come, he could tell. He knew because he had his fair share of nightmares. She stood unbent, but it was strength in appearance only. One more blow, and her brittle resilience would shatter. Seeing it and having no tools to help left his stomach roiling like he was being tossed on the Waking Sea once more. How could seeing someone's pain leave him sick? It wasn't because of his admiration of her. He'd harbored infatuations before, and never once had they affected him so. Worry was only natural, but this went beyond the pale.
"I promise I'll never lie to you," he said softly, the words slipping out before he could bite them back.
It was true, he realized. He wanted to her come to him, to trust him. He wanted her to ask the question, give him license to tell her everything.
"And in that spirit," Cullen continued, drawing her back towards the sea of tents with a gentle hand on the small of her back. "You need to sleep."
"So do you," she said through a yawn. "Can I order you to sleep, or is my role more ceremonial?"
He chuckled a bit at that, relishing the slow pace necessitated by her injuries. He didn't want to share her yet despite years of habit screaming at him to run away, to put distance between them. Cullen sneered at that fearful instinct. He refused to hide like a frightened rabbit. He'd joined this cause to have a fresh start, to force himself to grow stronger than his fears and atone for his wrongs. This woman had nearly died so they might have a second chance. He wasn't going to waste it, though that didn't mean he could pursue her. There were too many reasons he could never have her, not the least of which were their positions in the Inquisition and the newest development in the war.
He'd allow himself to feel for her, to be drawn in by her quick jokes and sly smiles, but he'd never allow himself to act on those feelings. She was so open with those near her that he doubted she realized the effect she could have—did have—on his heart. No, she couldn't return his feelings or even know of them. They were his alone.
Resolved, Cullen escorted her to her tent and left her to rest while he sought his own slumber.
They trekked north through the mountains, following Solas and the scouts by turn. On the second day, they found a forgotten mountain road and a cheer went up. They were making progress, it seemed. The promise of shelter and safety took the edge off aching feet and fingers burning with the cold. People were still fearful and would glance behind for pursuing templars. Many watched the skies for an advancing dragon. Despite the distance and fair weather, everyone keenly felt the losses at Haven.
Katerina's magic had returned on the third day, and she quickly used it to heal her arm and ribs. The itching of mending bone heightened in a burst of pain, but it faded as quickly as it came. She was as good as new.
The ex-templar felt the pull of her magic and actually smiled when he saw her unwinding the bandages to be washed and used on the injured. She'd improved since their conversation on the bluff, growing stronger and regaining her easy composure as they moved forward. The dark circles under her eyes hadn't truly faded, but those were the only indication that something was amiss.
She'd been spent time walking with everyone, slowly working her way through all the people who'd agreed to follow her as they marched on. He could hear her laughter carrying over the crowd as she walked with Dorian, saw the quiet conversations with Vivienne, and her rapt attention at the Warden's stories. The way the Warden's hand hovered near her lower back or grasped at her hand as they stepped over snowdrifts and frozen rocks had a roar of envy rising in his throat, burning like mage fire when he bit it back.
Cullen tried to shake it off but couldn't fully tamp out the little flares of jealousy that rose like snakes in a pond when he saw her closeness with the older man. He focused on the scouts instead, sending them forward, setting soldiers and mages assignments to continue covering their tracks as they moved through the snowy pass. He poured his attention into the rationed supplies, towards exchanging quiet words of encouragement and thanks with his injured recruits. He made it his job to ensure that the injured and weary, the children and elderly had mounts to carry them through the frozen terrain.
The Herald could spend her time however she wished; Cullen wouldn't allow himself to shirk his duties. She wasn't his and never would be.
It seemed that decision called her to his side. She appeared there on the third morning, keeping pace with him as he dismissed the soldiers and mages under his command. His heart skipped a beat when he found her at his side and couldn't hide his grin. It was a pleasant surprise.
"Good morning, Herald," he greeted, adjusting his stride for her. She was only half a head shorter than him, but it was enough of a difference that he didn't wish to outpace her.
"Cullen, I thought we were beyond this." Katerina rolled her eyes at his formal address and affected a playful scowl.
"Yes, but your name is something of a mouthful. 'Herald' isn't quite so stuffy." He felt himself grinning at her indignant squawk, as if anything about her could ever be truly 'stuffy.'
"Then give me a nickname, anything but a title." They were practically strolling as the entire force progressed down the mountain path, no one paying them any mind as they went. "I'll sic Sera on you if you make me beg, and she has bees."
The image of her on her knees before him flashed through his mind and Cullen had to suppress a groan as his skin heated in response. He couldn't imagine her like that, however enticing a picture she made with a pout on those velvety lips and mischief twinkling in her eyes. Eager to dispel that image, he began mentally reciting the Chant. It calmed his nerves and eased his hot flush.
"Fine, good morning… Kat." He shot her a questioning look, pleased to see her smile at the new address. "Did you need something?"
She shrugged and squinted up as a trio of ravens circled overhead. They were too small to be anything worse, but the mage couldn't help the jump in her pulse as the shadows swooped down towards them. "I'd like to know more about the templars."
"You lived in the Circle for years," he said, hand resting easily on the hilt of his sword as they walked. It was a motion borne of habit. "What can I tell you that you don't already know?"
"Well, why did you join the Order?" Katerina snuck a glance at him, her stomach twisting in anticipation as his lips curled just the slightest bit. It was a transparent ploy, but she wanted to know him better.
Cullen couldn't hide the pleased quirk of his lips at her question. She was curious about him, as he was about her. It sent a thrill racing through him that he tried to throttle. They could only ever be friends—but how could they build a friendship without asking these questions, playing this game? Another brick tumbled down from the wall he'd painstakingly built around himself, another chink opened in his armor for her to worm through, as he opened his mouth to answer.
"I could think of no better calling than to protect those in need." Cullen smiled at the fond memories of his childish eagerness and caught her watching him curiously. It spurred him to continue. "I used to beg the templars at our local Chantry to teach me. At first they merely humored me, but I must have shown some promise—or at least a willingness to learn. The Knight-Captain spoke to my parents on my behalf, and they agreed to send me for training. I was thirteen when I left home."
"Thirteen—that's still so young!" She looked sad at that, realizing he'd been on his own from such a tender age. It reminded her of her own time in the Circle, though she'd been lucky enough to still visit her family.
"I wasn't the youngest there," he said with a shrug, offering her a hand to step over a fallen tree. Instead, she channeled some of her magic to hoist it out of the path for the wagons and carts behind them. He tried to calm his surprise at her sudden channeling, focusing on the good it would do for the main body of their entourage. "Some children are promised to the Order at infancy. Still, I didn't take on full responsibilities until I was eighteen. The Order sees you trained and educated first."
"What about your family? Did you miss them?" Katerina asked, thinking of her own family.
"Of course," he replied. "There are many my age who felt the same. We learned to look after one another—as did the mages we watched."
"What do you think of mages? Are we all a threat?" She peered up at him, watching his reaction carefully as her heart beat a rough staccato in her chest. 'Are you afraid of me?' she asked silently.
He heard the question as clearly as if she'd said it aloud. It hung between them for a heartbeat, looming over them as they eyed the other. With a sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck and looked away.
"I told you not so long ago that I'd be honest with you… I've seen the suffering magic can inflict. I've treated mages with distrust because of it—at times without cause." He dared glance at her then, his own unsaid words now hanging darkly between them. "It was unworthy of me; I'll try not to do so here. Not that I want mages moving through our base completely unchecked. We need safeguards in place to protect people—including the mages—from possession, at least."
"That's fair," Katerina nodded. "I'm glad you're… reevaluating your stance on mages."
He chuckled at her diplomatic phrasing, grimly amused by the careful wording. "You've no idea—I was stationed in Kirkwall before it fell, and in Kinloch Hold before that when blood mages took over. It's been nearly a decade since I last had a good experience with a mage—until you."
Her eyes went wide at this revelation. She'd never known, never would have guessed. Despite his wariness and preparedness to deal with her should an abomination rise, she'd never guessed his extreme distaste for mages was so personal. Like a fool, she'd assumed he disliked her simply because he was a templar and that's what templars did. Now it was she that was acting unworthy.
"I'm sorry for ever doubting you," she said eventually. Searching for a lighter subject, something that wasn't quite so loaded, she asked, "Did you enjoy your training?"
"I wanted to learn everything," he admitted, easily latching on to the new direction. "If I was giving my life to this, I would be the best templar I could."
"You were a model student," Katerina teased with a tiny grin.
He shot her a measuring glance, smiling in answer to her own. She was curious about him and it felt like more than a polite interest. She'd shied away from the revelations about his past, careful to avoid the sensitive subject, but still pressed forward with her questions about his youth. He was tempted to read into it but resisted. He couldn't allow himself that flight of fancy. It only made sense that she trust him, learn about him; it was part of the dynamic between a prophetess and her general, or so he assumed.
"I wanted to be," he chuckled. "I wasn't always successful. Watching a candle burn down while reciting the Chant of Transfigurations wasn't the most exciting task. I admit, my mind sometimes wandered."
"A model student and a rebel. I knew there was something I liked about you."
Now he knew it was more than a polite interest in the head of the Inquisition's military. Even he could tell that her remark and her coy smile were flirtatious. Cullen's stomach lurched at that. He shook his head, uncertain of how to respond. He wished he could deliver a smooth reply and sweep her off her feet, but his tongue felt clunky and his mouth went dry. The effect she had on him was downright confounding.
For her part, Katerina was thoroughly enjoying the conversation. Maybe she was a bit too coy, but she couldn't resist it. The Commander's flustered blushes and darting glances were adorable. He seemed almost boyish when she teased him—younger, almost. He couldn't be much older than she was, but he carried the weight of his past and responsibilities like a mantle. It made him seem older and darker, almost dangerous. But when he shot her that uneven grin and his amber eyes sparkled her way—he was positively devastating.
"Do templars take vows?" she asked a little too innocently. "You know, 'I swear to the Maker to watch all the mages'—that sort of thing?"
He huffed a laugh at her teasing, still walking at an easy pace by her side. They could be on a stroll through a garden, something proper and befitting her noble heritage for all the ease of their conversation. It seemed strange to be having it on a frozen mountain path, but nothing about her had been conventional thus far. He shook himself back to the present and refocused on her question.
"There's a vigil first. You're meant to be at peace during that time, but your life is about to change." He thought back to his long night of meditation in the Chantry hall, the ache of his knees against the unforgiving flagstones and the way the candles flickered almost hypnotically about Andraste's feet. "When it's over, you give yourself to a life of service. That's when you're given a philter—your first draught of lyrium—and its power. As templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgment. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen."
"A life of service and sacrifice. Are templars expected to give up physical temptations?" She watched him from under her lashes and had to bite back a laugh at his stunned expression.
"Physical? Why—" He coughed to clear his throat, his voice too high and too strained to be natural. "Why would you… That's not expected." Best to stick with a more factual answer, he decided. "Templars can marry—although there are rules about it, and the Order must grant permission… Some may choose to give up more to prove their devotion, but it's, uh, not required."
The back of his neck burned as he avoided looking at her for fear of what he might see there. Cullen rubbed his neck and could practically feel the pleased grin she must be wearing.
Katerina couldn't bite back her smile at his pink ears and wide eyes. Maybe he'd think her a tease, but she wouldn't hide this part of herself. She was no innocent. When her mother had informed her of the plan to ship her off to court as some count or marquis's mistress, Katerina had returned to the Circle and taken her first lover that same night. She refused to lose a part of herself on anyone else's terms. She'd also fancied young men before, including a young templar, but neither her bedmates nor infatuations had ever made her feel so carefree or uncertain. It was a heady combination, though she was wary of being burned.
"Have you taken any such vows?" she pressed, promising herself she'd let him off the hook after this.
"Me?" Cullen nearly squeaked, finally looking at her and vaguely noting her flushed cheeks before he looked away again. "I… um… no. I've taken no such vows. Maker's breath—can we speak of something else?"
"Fine, you ask the questions then," Kat chirped. She shot him a saucy grin as he gaped at her for a moment, taken aback by the sudden turn.
"You're from the Circle in Ostwick," he started, kicking a pebble into a drift of snow. "You must have traveled quite a distance to come here."
"That's not a question," she pointed out.
"What do you make of it all?" He shot her an amused glance, shaking his head at this new side of her.
"You mean the endless Fade rifts, demons, templars that want me dead, and magisters that would be gods?" She shook her head, a storm cloud darkening her expression despite the feeble attempt to make light of it all. "I wanted adventure, but I never wanted this. In truth, it is exciting—being away from that life, being somewhere new. Maybe that's selfish, given everything that's happened, but it's something I never thought I'd have."
"What did you think your life would be?" he asked, enchanted by the play of light and dark, humor and gravity dancing through her voice.
"I wanted to run away on a merchant vessel and become a pirate queen," she said with a wry shake of her head. "My mother had plans to marry me off to some well-appointed lordling and his well-connected family. That plan… changed a bit when my powers manifested."
'Of course, marriage.' It was the way for noble daughters. She was meant for some highborn son of a highborn family with wealth and titles galore. She'd been born for a life of privilege. She was not for him. That thought chased away his happy mood, a dampener on the little daydreams he allowed himself of her flashing eyes and pink lips.
"What changed?" he asked, the words sounding resentful to his ears though he hoped it wasn't apparent to her. "You're still a well-bred, educated woman. Why would being a mage change things?"
Katerina was startled by that question coming from him, of all people. "Cullen, no gently bred lordling would have a wife who could set his sheets aflame when he inevitably strayed."
"Is that what your mother told you?"
"It's what everyone said." She shrugged and kept on, her stride unaltered. "I wasn't upset; the life of a spinster is fine with me. If the men deemed 'suitable' were too insecure to tolerate a mage, or a woman nearing thirty, then I wouldn't marry. I grew to be happy with my books and my little garden."
"Was there no one you cared about?" he asked.
"My best friend, Sienna, and my mentor, Enchanter Lydia." She purposely dodging the question, flirting with him and trying to draw him out. She knew it—just as she knew it was spurred by her appreciation of his handling of Haven. She'd seen him in a different light that night, noticing his quick thinking and unwillingness to give up even in the face of calamity. He was a handsome man, and he possessed a handsome mind too. It was an intriguing combination.
"No one special?" The question was quiet, cautious as if he expected a rebuke.
"Not for a long time." Her reply was equally soft, seeing his vulnerability and meeting it with her own. "I… My mother moved on from trying to marry me off to finding me a 'patron' in Orlais. As you might guess, I didn't take that news well."
"Tell me," he insisted, watching the emotions flicker through those expressive eyes of hers. He couldn't imagine her the coveted pet of a nobleman, trotted out like a trophy to perform tricks before being sent back to his bed.
"I returned to the Circle and found a young man I'd had a flirtation with. I took him to bed." She gestured vaguely despite her blunt words. "I considered it my final rebellion, certain she'd find out somehow and disown me. But then the Circle fell a few months later and I fled Ostwick altogether."
"Why didn't you just go home?" he asked.
"Templars were searching homes for mages and hauling them back to the Circle or killing them in the streets. I couldn't let my family see that." She shuddered at the thought of her youngest brother watching her fall to a templar blade, the same blade their big brother carried.
He halted her then with a steady, gloved hand on her elbow and watched her with genuine concern. "I am sorry you experienced that, that the templars failed you. And I'm sorry for our first, unfriendly days."
"Cullen, you haven't let me down." She rested her own hand atop his, the glove hiding the green mark on her hand. "Though I understand the sentiment: I'm sorry for what you've endured at the hands of mages."
"You…" he sighed and squeezed. "You have nothing to apologize for. Kat—"
He was cut off by Dorian and Sera approaching in a raucous rendition of a bawdy tavern song, their off-key voices echoing off the mountainside. People parted to let them through, chuckling and shaking heads rippling behind them.
"Oh look, Sera, we're interrupting a tender moment," the mage sing-songed, waggling his eyebrows at the pair. "Hello, lovebirds."
"Why don't you just frig already?" Sera chortled. "Frig."
"Sera, say 'fuck' or don't tease at all," Kat retorted coolly, unbothered by the archer's delighted giggles.
Cullen dropped his hand from her arm like he'd been burned, quickly stuttering some excuse to get him away from there. The last thing he wanted was any rumor of his love life circulating, however blatantly false they may be. He would not let himself hobble the Inquisition simply because he was infatuated with the Herald. He just had to give it time. It would die out with time.