Chapter 4: To lead me
There was no time for mourning, no time for fear, no time for anything but his job. Cullen turned from the doors of the Chantry and began to shout orders to every soldier near him. He had them gathering supplies from the storerooms below and grouping people together by age and strength, to ensure that no one got left behind and that every group had soldiers and mages alike to keep them safe. He sent a few of his stealthier men to round up the horses from outside and take them to the back of the Chantry where, Cole explained, the Chancellor's escape route was. With the strange boys help, Cullen managed to get the information they needed to get everyone to safety- or at least, away from the terrors of the coming army.
He wouldn't think about the fighting outside. He wouldn't think about her throwing herself in that monster's path, just so they could escape. He wouldn't think about any of it. The future of the Inquisition rested on her doing her job, and him doing his, and that was they only thought he would allow to dominate his mind.
Cassandra volunteered to lead the way with the strange boy and Chancellor Rodrick, so Cullen took up the rear of the group and told himself firmly it was to ensure that no stragglers were left behind. What little lyrium was in his still in his body was humming through him, powered by adrenaline and desperation. Soldiers and scouts and chantry folk were cramming whatever they could into bags and heading out the door. We are going to starve to death, but at least we'll have the damned paperwork, he groused, even as he shoved what he could from his own office into his pack. Treaties and proof of contracts and papers stating what sort of goods the Inquisition had stored for their military force across Fereldan. When he could put it off no longer, he followed the last of the scouts out of the Chantry. One last look, one last backward glance at the doors, and he left, then closing the way behind him. Betrayal and guilt and the memory of a time when he'd turned his back on those in need, dogged his steps. Determination was the only thing that kept him going- a stubbornness to survive and ensure that her sacrifice was not in vain.
Just as the Chancellor had said, the path was hidden at first, but quickly became apparent to those fleeing the chaos of Haven. As if by Andreste's hand, the trees and bushes and even the mountains themselves seemed to conspire to keep the little place hidden and safe, but never overgrown. It was quiet, no thunder of marching armies, not rumbling of the first avalanche's remnants, no screams of the dead and dying. Even his inner demons seemed quieted by the peace of this path. Twenty minutes of full out flight and the Inquisition forces were far enough away, with a small mountain between them and Haven, for Cullen to give the signal. The scout beside him was standing on a jutting rock, arrow poised to dip into the torch held by another. Cullen looked up the path they had just come, hoping to see a figure struggling through the snow- but nothing. He couldn't even bare to look towards Haven. He was about to give a signal to their savior so that she could bury herself and the red army. When history spoke of this… would it be kind? Would the future generations forgive him? Could he ever forgive himself?
His eyes turned to the scout, and he gave one short nod before turning away. A high whistle, of the the arrow piercing the night sky, was the only sound he could hear. The order took almost no time to give, but an eternity to execute. He waited. One breath. Two. Three. Four. Had she stayed alive this long? Would their flight mean nothing after all? No- the ground beneath him shook and a dull rumble started into a deafening roar as the mountain came down on their abandoned home.
It was done.
His feet carried him forward as the blizzard finally broke around them, but he didn't feel the cold. His soldiers filed ahead of him, pausing here and there to help stumbling refugees, but he didn't see them. The Inquisition was safe, for now, and in a few hours' time they would have to make camp, but he didn't care. For a time, he let himself be numb. There was no time to mourn, not yet, but he could at least be numb, if only for a little while.
Cullen wasn't sure how long they hiked through these abandoned mountains. The monotony of it all was broken only by the occasional stops for food, rest, and water, and of course- the reports of those who were dying on the trail. Leliana suggested burying their dead here in the mountains, but Cullen quickly cut that idea off before it could grow. "We take our dead with us, for a proper burial." His tone brokered no arguments, and soon enough they reorganized one of the wagons strictly for the dead. He could not help but memorize every name that was brought to him. Some of them had faces he knew, others he regretted knowing only their names. Each one was another log upon the funeral pyre his mind built for the Herald (even in his thoughts, he dared no speak her name). Every life lost was another mark against him, another failure. Like Kinloch. Like Kirkwall. Now Haven.
He didn't realize they had stopped until he practically stumbled into one of the wagons. One of his men rushed to help him, but Cullen waved him off impatiently. Annoyed at the delay, he stomped around the wagon with the intention of telling everyone to keep moving, only to find that they were unpacking and setting up camp. Spying Leliana nearby, directing some of the mages in where to get some fires going, he pushed past the soldiers and refugees to snarl at her in a voice not meant to carry, "Why are we stopping? That army could be right behind us and break through the camp at any moment!"
The spymaster turned a sharp gaze onto him, her expression somewhere between sorrow and annoyance, "Look around you Commander. Not only is it too dark to proceed through a growing blizzard, but the people are exhausted. My scouts are all around us. We will know, sooner, if the red army comes."
Sure enough, when Cullen stopped growling long enough to observe the people around him, he saw just how tired they all were. Those who were not being directly ordered were simply lingering, looking around with empty eyes or sobbing into the arms of others. They were covered in snow and ash and blood. The few children that had been in Haven were clinging to their parents or to those who were looking after them, some whimpering helplessly, some just staring without understanding the upheaval in their life. A few soldiers were helping their injured brothers and sisters into the first few tents that had been erected, and others were placing the dead into the cart and covering them. Everyone was tired, terrified, and just trying to stay standing long enough to not die in the cold. Leliana was right. They couldn't keep going tonight.
Deflating a little, he nodded before turning to take over those soldiers who weren't yet setting up camp. "You there! I want you and three others to scout a perimeter for this camp. If this blizzard gets much worse, we may not be able to leave this spot for a few days. You, help those mages get fires going. I want to see cooking pots on all of them in ten minutes!" Where he moved, chaos turned to order, and the Inquisition set down its roots for the night. There were wounded to tend to, reports to be made, and refugees to be fed. Throughout it all, the demons in his head screeched louder and louder, until they became a roar like an avalanche. The adrenaline from earlier was gone, and he feared he would succumb to the madness inside if he stopped for a moment. Sheer stubborn will kept him on his feet, and the desire to ensure that they did not escape the disaster in Haven just to freeze to death in this cold wilderness. Already Leliana and Cassandra were conferring with scouts to try to find out where exactly they were, much less where they were going. Josephine was gathering all the papers that had been salvaged and trying to organize them. And Cullen… Cullen was about to collapse where he stood.
A touch on his shoulder revived his whirling mind, and he turned to see Solas trying to get his attention. How long had he been standing there? "I'm sorry. Say that again?"
"I said that Cole believes the Herald is alive."
The world swayed, then snapped into place. Eyes wide and energy returned, the Commander stepped up to the elf, his voice a desperate plea, "Where? How?"
"The how is complicated, but he said she is coming. Perhaps a search party-"
Cullen didn't let him finish, he turned and pointed to the closest group of soldiers, "You! With me! One of you gather any other soldiers who are not doing essential work. We are forming a search party for the Herald."
Cassandra's head snapped up and the Seeker stalked over to him, fury on her face, "Commander! We can ill afford to send men out on an empty quest-"
He cut her off with a gesture as he pulled his cloak more firmly over his shoulders and checked to make sure his sword was clear in its scabbard, "She is alive. I won't leave her to the blizzard."
"And how do you know this?"
"Solas." The name was short, and he saw the Seeker turn to the elf in surprise. Not waiting for a second confirmation, he led his men through the camp, back towards the winding path the Inquisition had taken. It was only now that he realized how bad the storm had gotten. They seemed to be sheltered from the brunt of it, nestled as they were among towering peaks, but outside of that the wind still howled and drifts of snow, waist high in some places, slowed their progress out of the valley.
With what energy he had left, he grabbed a hold of the lyrium remnants in his veins, and pushed outward with his senses, searching for any trace of magic. There was so little left in him, and it was burning away rapidly. He cursed himself for not bringing his philter with him, for not taking it as soon as Haven was attacked, for not being strong enough to feel her magic in this desolate, snowy waste. The demons laughed at him, mocking him for yet another failure and he wanted to claw his eyes out to take away the images that fluttered to the surface, things he had not dwelled on since she had joined.
Using his arm to block some of the wind, he signaled to his men, "I want half of you to come with me, and half of you to go down the other side of the valley we came up. Look for any sign- a figure, a fire, a spark of green. Anything."
"I'm coming with you, Cullen." Cassandra's voice cut through the wind, and he turned, giving her a grateful nod.
"Very well. The more the better. But no one lose sight of your party! I don't want to send another search out tonight!"
The spread out, two arms lengths between them, and marched forward. He wanted to break free and run, calling her name, find her now, not in an hour, not in a day, not already dead and frozen. But they had to do this right. If he went storming off into the snow there was no guarantee that he'd see her, and instead would end up dead in the snow himself.
The wind howled and whipped up snow into their faces, blowing some of the smaller scouts over as they clambered over the lip of the valley and onto rock piles for a better view. Cullen merely trudged on, his legs moving mechanically, his eyes examining every shadow, every lump of snow, every spark that reacted to his lyrium fueled search. Sweat formed at his brow and froze in his hair, and he could see some of his men pulling their tunics up over their faces, or wrapping their cloaks tighter. How long could they search before risking frostbite? How long did they have before Wren succumbed to the cold herself? Yes, she was a mage, but that would be of no use to her if she was already exhausted from fighting. What if they didn't find her in time? What if-
"Commander! Over there!"
A crackle of green, barely visible in the snow, and the figure wobbling collapsed. "The Herald!" He threw himself forward, barreling through the snow to reach her. She'd collapsed onto her side, her lips so dark blue and cracked that they looked like ice themselves. Her eyes were closed, but he could just see the puffs of breath still escaping. Unwrapping his cloak as he closed the distance, he knelt in the snow and gathered her in his arms, pulling the heavy fabric around her, "Herald, can you hear me?" There was no response as he lifted her to his chest, hunching over her to protect her from the wind. His voice was barely audible above the sounds around him, but he clung to her in desperate hope, "Herald- Wren. Please, stay with me." She groaned softly, turning her head towards him. Hope flared brightly in his chest and he stood again, pushing back through the snow. His eyes were for her only, and had he not been so utterly worn out, he would have cried for joy, "We found you, Wren. You're safe. I have you." The words wove in and out of his lips and mind, keeping him going as much as he imagined it kept her alive. Camp was his only goal, and fire.
Cassandra took over the orders, getting the soldiers and scouts to leap into action. "One of you, get the healers! Have a tent readied and get a fire going! She's frozen through." She led Cullen back, breaking the way through the snow for him. By the time they made it back, the news had already spread like wildfire, and the camp was clamoring to see their savior, back from the dead. Solas and Dinall were already waiting at a tent, both downing lyrium potions to prepare for the intense healing that was bound to take place.
Varric held the flap open while Cullen brought her in, and as Dinall unwrapped the cloak, they all drew a collective breath. "Maker's saggy… How did she survive?" the dwarf whispered, expressing the sentiment of those present. One side of her face was a mass of bruises, blood was frozen to her ear where it had obviously been trickling down. Even through the leather armor, they could see a dark red stain coming from her side. It appeared that one of her ankles was broken, or at least twisted, and any skin that was showing was blue-white with cold.
Solas did not wait, only blinked once, cursing under his breath in elvish, then placed his hands over her face to begin healing her head. Cullen understood the need to start there. Blood from the ears could mean damage that would kill her more surely than the cold or whatever wounds on her side. Dinall began pulling her leather armor off, cursing softly. Varric turned and pushed Cullen out of the tent, despite his protestations, "No woman, no matter how close to death, wants everyone to see her naked. Those two have the excuse of being healers. I'm sure they'll let you back in once they've bandaged her."
Cullen dug his heels in at the tent entrance, where Cassandra was standing with a pale, but determined face, "I expect regular updates, Seeker." She gave him one long look, before nodding and stepping aside to let him and the dwarf pass.
The cold mountain air hit him hard and he stopped, waiting to adjust to the sudden cold. He hadn't even realized how warm the tent had been, but when he glanced back at it, he could see the glowing runes over the canvas, and Dorian at the back of the tent casting more. Their mages might not have much strength left, but they were giving everything they had to save their Herald. Not because she was some magical person, but because of who she was- Wren. His mind played back every smile they'd shared, every flirting remark, every angry scowl. She had helped so many, she had changed so much. To lose her now…
Maker… Watch over your child.
[AN: Woo! Another chapter! I've been concentrating on the main story lately, but I felt like updating this one tonight. Hope you all enjoyed, and don't forget to drop me a comment! Everyone knows us writers like to know when people enjoy our work.]