"Make that thing hear you."
That had been the advice he'd given her. At the time, it had felt sound. They'd been cornered, trapped. It was a scenario Cullen was all too familiar with, and one that had left him teetering on the verge of falling completely into his memories of Kinloch Hold.
He'd felt like he'd been kneeling in that barrier all over again, only able to watch as those around him died. It had taken almost all of his will to convince himself he wasn't. He had grasped to the present frantically, desperate not to let what had happened before repeat itself.
They would fight harder this time. They would fight, and they would not die by inches stolen from them, but by their own terms.
It would be better that way, surely.
It hadn't occurred to him that they could really get away, even as they made their way through that mountain pass, led by Chancellor Roderick and an odd fellow who'd shown up just in time to warn them what they were up against as it crashed down upon them. Cullen still scarcely believed what he'd been told.
It was bleak. Horribly so. And between archdemons and impossible odds, there didn't seem to be a way to survive.
And even when hope dared to show its face, part of him still hadn't been able to believe that they could get away. And part of him still kept whispering that everyone wasn't making it out.
The whole while that he'd been coordinating the evacuation, his mind kept going back to the Herald.
Make that thing hear you. When he'd told her that, she had met his gaze without even a hint of fear for the first time since they'd met and simply nodded. She'd drawn her bow, nocked an arrow, and headed out. Even when they'd approached the Breach, she'd been nervous—so nervous that her quiet complaints about moving forward without the rebel mages had been quelled. But as they'd fallen under attack…. It was the first time she truly seemed like more than just a misplaced apostate.
That moment had seemed to bring to light a lot of firsts.
It was the first time she hadn't needed persuading or reassurance to go into battle.
In that moment, it was the first time that Cullen had really, truly seen her. Her hair had been wild in the winds, tangling and untangling, sweat and blood and snow already dampening locks. That fire in her eyes had seemed untamable, like she was something out of a legend. Her stance had been calmer, almost relaxed of all things.
It was like she was used to fighting against odds she couldn't win. Like she expected it.
Part of his heart broke at the thought. He couldn't explain why, but as she'd turned away, he'd thought back to only nights before, when she'd been so terrified, curling up next to him and falling asleep from sheer exhaustion, her head nestled against his shoulder and a children's storybook of all things cradled in her lap.
She had been the one who needed protecting then. She'd seemed so vulnerable, so terrified that it had made Cullen wonder how she'd actually managed to survive going up against a demon at all. He'd never seen a mage leave their Harrowing as shaken as she'd been. He could only imagine how she'd been right after encountering the creature.
Or had it been the presence of the templars that had her frightened so?
Even he had to admit that she had a right to be afraid.
Fear could be contagious, and if it had spread to the wrong person, to someone who drew their sword too quickly…
He'd nearly drawn his as he'd gone into her hovel after hearing her scream, expecting assassins or demons or…
However, something had stayed his hand. When he'd seen her, he hadn't seen a susceptible mage, a creature that might be losing herself to something vile inside her head. Instead, she'd looked much as he imagined he might after waking up from a particularly jarring nightmare. He'd thought of how she'd looked like she hadn't slept in days, and it had been obvious that she was avoiding her dreams. Somehow, his mind hadn't gone to demons as he'd seen her there, shaking and holding herself. It was almost as though someone had whispered in his ear that she was more like him than either of them realized.
The next thing he'd known he'd been comforting her.
It hadn't been until he'd woken up the next morning that his mind had wandered back to the possibility of possession. Even as he'd looked down at her, wondering if they could actually know if the envy demon had done something lasting to her—surely the templars she'd been holed up with would have noticed, though…they'd missed the envy demon itself, so that was hardly reassuring—Sera had trounced in and started a ruckus, crowing about how 'naughty' they were.
It had been embarrassing, but Cullen had also been a bit on edge for the rest of that morning, until he'd seen the Herald again. He'd been in the war room when she slipped in to take a look at where the other reported rifts were—her plan had been to keep working on the smaller rifts until the mages could be located, though First Enchanter Vivienne had somehow managed to get her to agree to march on the Breach without them.
When she'd seen him, her cheeks had flushed, and while she couldn't meet his gaze, hers had kept darting back toward him, watching him as though trying to figure out what he was about.
It had been so…innocent.
He'd been ashamed to have even wondered if she could have been possessed.
And as far as facing off against a demon that powerful…he hadn't fared so well during his own, twisted 'Harrowing', had he?
That any mage could walk away from such a test without breaking down completely was…
He tried not to think about it.
As he'd gotten lost in their conversation, Cullen hadn't been able to help a small smile as they'd discussed the different points on the map—he'd made a dumb joke about Lake Calenhad looking like a bunny and had been surprised at how enthusiastically she'd agreed.
It was during that conversation that he had first forgotten she even had magic. She hadn't been a mage, just a colleague, working with him.
It was strange to see her in so many different lights.
From paranoid and mistrusting to vulnerable to innocent to…fierce.
As she'd turned her back to him after his words of 'wisdom', her slender frame to be the last barrier between an archdemon and their people, he'd felt an odd tug in his chest. It was just for a second, and then the world came crashing back into focus, but still…
It was ridiculous, but he'd felt like if anyone could keep that unholy dragon at bay, maybe it was her.
Those brilliant eyes of hers had been resolute as she snapped out a few quick orders, calling for the Iron Bull, Warden Blackwall, and Solas to come with her. Why those three had been beyond him. Sera had nearly gone after them—she actually might have in all honesty, as Cullen could barely keep track of everyone during the chaos of trying to retreat—but by the time he'd been directing people through the pass, she'd been there, shooting arrows into any of the Venatori who tried to block their path with a sharp curse and tears pricking her eyes.
Ser Delrin Barris had assisted with the lead along with Leliana and Josephine, following Chancellor Roderick and the newcomer—he hadn't gotten any names, though he knew the man was a mage. Tevinter, from the sound of him. Suspicious as that was, they were hardly in a place to reject any assistance.
Cassandra and Cullen had sought to keep things moving, to keep everyone calm. A few soldiers offered to go back to help the Herald, but Cullen ordered them not to. He needed them guarding the civilians.
He left a small contingency in a more dangerous area, to provide cover for anyone coming up late—and with the vain hope that when the mountain did fall, they might be able to help the Herald make it up the pass, somehow.
It was foolish and impractical, and the strategist in him knew better. Everyone did.
All five of the Herald's templars chose to stay there, as well as many of the Chargers. Cassandra had remained behind to lead them.
While Cullen had wanted to remain with them, there were too many lives at stake. He couldn't put words to why he'd wanted to stay, why a part of him wanted to just charge back into certain death to make sure that the Herald survived.
He'd felt like he was the one trapped down in Haven. Every chance he got, he looked back, pretending it was to take inventory of what they'd managed to bring with them and who was where—in part it was—but what he'd really been searching for was where the fighting seemed to be in the valley, where the archdemon was, and if he could somehow make out where she was.
It wasn't right. Of everyone here, she'd been the only one who hadn't volunteered to join. Every last inquisition member had been recruited or turned up at Haven's door to help set the world right.
Every one of them had chosen this path, except for her. So how was it right that she be the one left behind?
Though... when she'd hurried from the Chantry, he'd seen a shift in her magic as well as her demeanor. As a Venatori had come lurching forward, Cullen had sworn he'd seen roots stretch up from the ground to catch the man's legs, jerking him to his knees and interrupting whatever spell had been on his lips. The Iron Bull had beheaded the mage before he could recover.
Then she had been out of sight, along with her entourage.
Cullen had prayed to the Maker and his Bride that they would watch over their champion, and had turned to his own tasks.
"Ser? Should I fire the signal?"
Cullen held his hand out, staying the archer beside him. "Wait. Let's give those retreating a few more minutes."
Never mind that each minute made the Herald's escape less likely. Every minute longer that she had to face off against that beast and whatever was controlling it—there had been whispers of some sort of sentient darkspawn, though Cullen hadn't gotten a good look at the creature during the fighting.
The man beside Cullen, an archer with umber skin who had been with them at both attempts to close the Breach, hesitated and then nodded. His eyes scanned the lower parts of the valley, fingers curled around his bow, ready to fire the flare at a word.
Cullen wanted to wait for the Herald, but that was impossible, wasn't it? She would be waiting for their signal, and wouldn't be able to even start her retreat until the avalanche itself was bearing down upon her.
A little voice in his head was screaming at how unfair it was. He should be the one down there, sacrificing himself for the cause. Not her.
She didn't deserve this.
Even as he tried to block out that little voice that berated him for not going back, for simply standing about on a mountainside watching the damned scenery, for standing around and letting someone die in front of him again, someone who hadn't chosen this path, he caught movement in the trees, heading in their direction, just a little after the furthest of the groups he'd planned on waiting for.
He signaled for the archers to be ready. If it was more Venatori pursuing them, it would be a miserable fight. The surviving civilians were making their way up the path, and there was very little room to fight without getting them caught in it.
However, as the first figure broke through the trees, Cullen couldn't help a small frown.
The Iron Bull had two of his smaller Chargers tossed over his shoulders as he headed toward them with long, loping strides. Warden Blackwall and Cassandra were on his heels. The warden was missing his shield and helm, but he was intact.
Of course he was intact. He'd been fighting with their Herald, after all.
Solas and the others followed in their wake.
Cullen felt his unease growing. They were supposed to be supporting the Herald. They were supposed to be protecting the trebuchet. How were they retreating already when the trebuchet hadn't been fired? Had the Herald decided it was a useless endeavor?
Even as a bit of anger flickered through him—the damned archdemon would just follow them without something to slow it down—he realized that he couldn't see her with the rest of them, and that anger quickly changed into dread.
They couldn't have left her behind...
By herself?
"Fire the signal," Solas commanded with an authority undue to him when he drew close enough for them to hear.
Without seeming to understand the order had been given from the wrong person, the archer did as he was told. The others kept moving forward, up the mountain trail.
Cullen stood where he was, watching the trebuchet, fear gnawing away at his gut.
There was a long, drawn out, indefinable moment where nothing happened, and he wondered if the Herald had fallen in battle, abandoned to insurmountable odds.
If that was the case, why hadn't one of the others stayed behind to fire the trebuchet? How could they have retreated?
And then the projectile was in the air, soaring high over Haven and into the mountain above. A thunderous crack echoed out. The mountain rumbled, the snow barreled down.
"Ser, we have to keep moving."
Cullen shrugged off whoever had put their hand on his shoulder, gaze glued not on the encroaching snow, but on Haven's outskirts, where the shot had come from.
It was preposterous to think he could see her from this far away, but he searched the frozen landscape for a spot of bright orange regardless.
He could see the dragon near the trebuchet.
His heart hurt.
And then the snow overtook that point, and the dragon fled.
A brilliant flash of light met the heavy wave of ice.
White and pure and...
And then it was gone. Extinguished in the curtain of ice and rock and cold that swept past.
He tried to watch the spot, to see if something otherworldly and strange—something magical—might happen. Perhaps the light would break through the snow, and they'd be able to make someone out or...
Nothing happened.
The snow continued to rumble down, consuming all that was left of Haven, burying the Inquisition's birthplace and their Herald. The archdemon roared as it soared out of the way, something clutched within its talons.
So the avalanche had kept their enemy from taking Haven, but it hadn't dealt a serious blow. Their enemies would walk away from this battered but not beaten, with the symbol of their cause intact.
The Inquisition...
Cullen finally whirled away from the sight, hurrying those at the tail end of the evacuation to keep moving, and slipping through the bedraggled masses until he could find the Herald's entourage. When he reached them, he found confusion had already gripped them.
Warden Blackwall was searching the crowd, bewildered. "Where is Finley?"
Cassandra straightened up, stopping as those around them kept the pace moving. "She was with us when we started up the slope."
"How could she have been?" Cullen snapped despite himself, when he was sure he was in earshot. "Who would have triggered the trebuchet? How could you have left her?"
"She set up a spell she could trigger from a distance. There was no sense in all of us getting buried," the Iron Bull started. His eye widened as he spoke, as though somehow that hadn't occurred to him. "She said all."
Warden Blackwall shook his head. "She was with us...wasn't she? I can remember her running beside me. I would not have left her alone for that." The warden looked around and then started shoving his way forward in the group, toward Solas, who hadn't deemed the confusion necessary to partake in. "Did you see what happened to the Herald?"
Solas barely stalled his steps. "We must keep moving. She wanted it this way."
Cullen felt anger twisting inside him. "What did you do?"
"What Finley asked of me. I got the others to safety. Before the avalanche." Solas stood up a little straighter.
"You...messed with their heads to get them to think she was there?"
Solas snorted derisively. "Of course not. She made an illusion. I pretended it was her. It only takes one person to fire a trebuchet. She saw no reason for all of us to be buried."
Cullen wanted to smack Solas back down the trail, to where the rushing snows might still reach him, but it was pointless. It wouldn't help anyone to get rid of so apt a healer.
Warden Blackwall looked like he might head back himself. "But if she stayed by the trebuchet when it was fired…"
"And just what can a warden do in this situation? The archdemon is gone. Do you think you can dig her out?" Solas hissed. He'd looked ready to leave it at that, though when he took into stock the expressions around him, his own grew marginally gentler. "…She is a skilled mage. If there is anyone who can save Finley, it is Finley herself. Let us trust that she knew what she was doing."
Despite the urge to go back, Cullen allowed himself one final glance back before gripping Warden Blackwall's shoulder and nodding for him to keeping moving forward.
Cold as Solas' words seemed, he was right.
Even if they went back, it wasn't like there was anything they could do. The snow had already overtaken where she'd been, and it wasn't as though they could climb the oncoming wall of rushing debris and hunt through it to find her.
She'd afforded them this chance to escape, perhaps at the cost of her own life. It would be foolish, and oddly selfish to throw that away.
That ache in his chest drummed in time with his heart, making his feet heavy even as he told them to march forward, that there were people who needed their commander.
Maybe…
If the Maker had truly chosen her...if she really was Andraste's Herald...
Cullen was a bit surprised by how desperately he wanted her to be safe.
It was a breathless desire that gripped him, whispering possibilities of ways she could have escaped danger, each more impractical than the last.
It felt useless to entertain what ifs when there was no way to make them reality. For all the power his position afforded him, there was nothing he could do to fix this.
Nothing at all.