Cullen tore through the papers on his desk, frantic. I haven't sent it off with a courier — it should still be here… There! — the docket from the Emerald Graves. He combed over it, looking for the section he had just read that afternoon.
Carroll. Carroll was with the Red Templars now — and he would be at the Lion's Pavillion for the next few weeks. Sending soldiers would take too much time, but he could reach the Graves on his own with a few days to spare. Leading an entire army would only slow him down, and he would lose this lead.
He needed to pack provisions; once he'd seen Cassandra, he would set out. He'd find Carroll, make him tell him where Samson was. Once Carroll was dead, he'd make Samson tell him where Corypheus was. They will pay for this.
He went up to his loft and opened his small chest of clothes,fishing out the bag he always kept packed in case he was deployed on short notice. Cullen had hoped he would next have need of it when he and Cat pursued Samson together…
If he couldn't hunt the man down with her at his side, then he would do it in her name.
Most of his basic needs were already there: spare clothes, tools for the upkeep of his sword and armor, a comb…but it lacked anything of sentimental value. Other than his brother's coin, he hadn't been one to carry such things around, even after leaving the Order. When he'd handed the coin over to Cat, its absence from his pocket had been enough: enough to know that she carried a part of his life with her always.
Now though… now, he needed something of hers. Something to hold onto. Something to focus on. He just needed something, anything, to focus on. Something to keep her with him now that she…
He closed his eyes and exhaled. He felt the weight of his sword at his side, a reminder that he did have something to focus on: the steel in his hands, the hollowness in his heart, the roar of anger in his ears — his revenge. That would be his focus.
His pack also lacked provisions; dry rations attracted mice, and potions risked being crushed in his trunk. He'd go to the kitchen and then the Undercroft to pick up his remaining supplies.
Lyrium.
The memory of its smell still lingered, but this wasn't a craving; not like earlier.This was a conscious thought. If he were to go out on his own, he'd be wise to use every resource available to him. Not only would he be free from withdrawal, but his templar skills would return in force as well. The thought then became a craving in earnest; his throat was dry, and it ached. He clenched his hands to hold back the involuntary twitching in his fingers.
No.
He'd leave the lyrium behind. The odds of him coming upon any aggressive mages was slim, especially with all of the Red Templars about. After everything my addiction has put Cat through… It was too much for him to just throw that all away.
He swung the pack over shoulders, slid down the ladder, and rushed out the door toward the kitchen. When he reached the lower courtyard, a skeletal hand grabbed his wrist.
"You need to stay for her! She would want you to stay!" Cole was back to actually addressing him directly once more. The grip he had on Cullen's wrist was crushing. Snot ran freely down from the boy's nose — and he was shouting again.
"I agreed to stay until Cassandra was back in Skyhold," Cullen reminded him firmly. "I have no intention of going back on my word."
Cole shook his head, limp hair flying everywhere. "She's alive! You need to listen to her!"
Despite Cole's emphatic insisting, Cullen couldn't make any sense of the words. "I will listen to Cassandra when she returns. But I will need to leave immediately after."
Cullen tugged on his hand, trying to get the boy to release him, but Cole's grip tightened painfully. Then his voice trailed off, and Cole slid back into a near-catatonic fugue. "She's alive. I couldn't save the others, but she's still alive."
Cullen was finally able to break free, but only after he'd yanked his wrist away sharply.
"She's alive, she's alive, she's alive," Cole continued to mutter.
"I'm afraid that's all he's been saying, Commander," Solas said as he approached the two. "I haven't been able to get anything else from him except the occasional word here and there. I haven't even been able to get him out of the courtyard."
"Is he staying out of the way? I won't have him slowing the mages' progress, especially after everything it took to clear the nobles out."
"He hasn't been underfoot, but until Cassandra returns there isn't much for them to do."
"I should get back to it, then."
Cullen nodded his farewell and resumed his walk toward the kitchens until Cole gripped his bicep, stopping him yet again. "Stay," was the simple command.
Dawn was still distant, but the sky was lightening just enough for the dark blue to wash out the torchlight, casting long, dancing shadows across Cole's face. It made him look even more ghostly and ominous.
"You should let Commander Cullen return to his duties," Solas stated.
"Stay," he whispered. Until this point, Cole had seemed intent on simply stopping Cullen; now, he began directing the Commander toward the gates. "You need to stay."
Cullen resisted for only a moment when he heard a horn call in the distance.
"I believe they must be returning," Solas said.
"I think you're right."
Cole released his hold on Cullen, and all three jogged over to the front gate. Once there, Cullen could see a large group with several torch carriers marching down the bridges; several mages rushed past to greet them. He could feel the Fade pull around him as several of them fade-stepped down the bridge in haste.
"She's alive. She's alive. I couldn't help, but she's alive." Cole's mutterings started to become louder, firmer. They were no longer half-whispered thoughts, directed at no one, but deliberate sentences. "She's alive. She's alive."
"Hopefully once he sees Cassandra, Cole will calm enough for us to get some more answers from him," Solas said.
The group of people hurried up the bridge. As they drew closer, Cole's litany became louder and louder. Cole wasn't quite shouting, but Cullen could hear him over the din of yelled orders from the healers.
"Seeker Pentaghast, you need to stop!" Cullen heard one of the mages yell.
"Cassandra seems to be conscious," Solas remarked.
"And being a stubborn arse from the sounds of it." Cullen ran out to meet the group, hoping to stop Cassandra from doing anything stupid and getting herself killed. If Cole wasn't going to be of any use, then they would need Cassandra's recount of the attack. As he got closer, he realized how miraculous it was that she was even alive, let alone awake enough to be harassing the healers. The torchlight reflected off the wet, dark splotches dripping from the underside of the stretcher.
If they have yet to stop the bleeding… Cullen feared Cole would be the only survivor.
"Commander!" One of the mages by Cassandra waved him over, and he quickened his steps. They didn't stop for him, but they did clear an opening at Cassandra's side so he could run alongside them to the Infirmary.
"Cassandra?"
She was stripped to the waist, but any flesh that would have been exposed was covered by bandages. Many had bled through already, and half of her face was purple and swollen. She could barely open one eye, but when it cracked open and landed on Cullen's face, she tried to sit up.
"None of that!" the mage snapped, placing a hand on her bandaged shoulder and pressing her back onto the stretcher.
"She's been mumbling and trying to leave the whole trip," said the soldier carrying the back end of the litter. "I don't think she knows where she is."
"Cull—" Cassandra rasped. She could barely move her lips around the swelling, and it looked like her jaw was fractured, but Cullen met her was clarity and understanding there — and fear. Cassandra was aware of what had happened, and of her condition. She doesn't think she is going to survive.
"Cul-n," she tried again, choking on the word.
He leaned in, trying to hear what was worth risking her life to say. If she thought these were to be her last words, he owed it to her to listen to them. It was difficult to understand her at first, barely there words hard to hear over the rush of their feet. The mage that had waved him over was also trying to heal the worst of her injuries, the musical hum of the Fade adding to the cacophony drowning out Cassandra's voice.
Once she had repeated herself several times, however, Cullen started hearing the pattern in her words. She was just repeating the same phrase over and over, and each time Cullen was able to catch just a little bit more.
Though, if he hadn't been listening to the exact same words repeated throughout the night, he'd likely never have been able to put it together.
"She's alive," Cassandra rasped. "I couldn't stop them, but she's alive. She's alive, Cullen."
As they passed through the portcullis, Cole's voice joined in, repeating the phrase. " 'She's alive. She's alive. I made sure of it. She's alive.' "
Cassandra's barely-open eye flickered over to Cole. Once she saw him, she allowed herself to truly lay back and stepped aside, allowing them to move on to the Infirmary without him.
"'I couldn't stop them. I couldn't help the others. But she's alive. She's alive. She's alive.'"
"Cat's alive…" he whispered. His body quaked in relief, the adrenaline leaving his system in a rush. He caught movement out of the corner of his eyes and turned to see Cole shifting from foot to foot. "Cat's alive! So you've been repeating Cassandra's thought this whole time?"
"Words. Important words. So important and so loud!" Cole told him. His hat had rematerialized, and Cole was wringing it in his hand. "Couldn't do anything, not until her words were heard and out of my head. You had to hear them but you weren't listening!"
Cullen grabbed Cole by the collar. He pulled back a fist but Solas had placed a surprisingly firm grip on his arm.
"More violence will not help us find out what happened out there."
"If we'd known that Cat was alive — we could have been looking for her all this time!"
"We already have been," Solas said placidly. "Scouts have been combing the area ever since Cassandra was found."
"Looking for a corpse!"
"Looking for any clue as to what happened." Solas' grip continued to tighten until Cullen released Cole.
Solas turned his attention to Cole. "Are you better now, Cole?"
"Words are out and thoughts are in. I tried to help, I tried to save them but I couldn't."
Cullen wasn't sure how this was an improvement on the incoherent rambling, but Solas took it as an encouraging sign. "You said the Templars killed her. Did you mean Madame Vivienne?"
"Even though she was afraid of me, she was afraid of them more, and afraid for the others. Fear, anger, determination. They'll have to kill me to get to her. They wouldn't stop, so she didn't stop. She would never stop until they stopped her, filled the Iron Lady with steel."
"What happened to Cat?" Cullen was done dancing around this. They needed answers. He needed answers.
"They wanted her — so sharp and jagged, thoughts always ricocheting. I couldn't control them, but I tried. I could see how much they wanted her, wanted her so badly I couldn't make them forget. Vivienne was already lost. Cassandra broken, bleeding, bruised. But she wanted me to protect her. I wanted to go after her but so many wants, wanted, wanting! The Inquisitor knew it too, so she made me stay. Made me hide. Made me protect Cassandra. But I wanted to help!"
"What the fuck is he on about?" Sera's voice rang out. The rest of the Inner Circle was with her; they must have seen Cassandra's return.
Solas sighed. "I think the Red Templars wanted to capture the Inquisitor alive. When Caitlin realized this, she asked Cole stay and watch over Cassandra."
"Why the fuck didn't you go after them?" Sera yelled at the spirit.
"I wanted to, but she didn't want me to," Cole whimpered.
"It was the right move, Kid." Varric put a consoling hand on Cole's shoulder. "If she wanted you to do something, then you were right to listen to her."
"But I didn't help!" Cole cried. "Everyone is hurting and I could have stopped that hurt!"
"No, you couldn't have, Cole," Solas insisted. "If you hadn't helped Cassandra, she would have died as well. And now we know what happened, because you listened to the Inquisitor."
Cole gave a solemn nod, but he seemed to take everyone's words as mere platitudes.
Doesn't she know how important she is? Why didn't she fight longer? Harder? Why didn't she tried to fight more for herself? Why didn't she try to fight more for me?
Cole looked at him. "She knew it would hurt you. She didn't want to hurt you, but she didn't want others to hurt more."
Cullen had heard tales of Cole's mind reading, had even experienced it via a third party, but it was something different when he stared at you with those eerie blue eyes. You could almost feel him shifting around in there, seeing past your eyes. "Stay out of my head," he ordered.
"You blame me," Cole said simply.
"Yes, I do," he growled; there was no point in denying it.
Cole stared at him, unfazed and unblinking. "I blame me, too."
To Cullen's relief, no one attempted to assure the boy that he was guiltless; he couldn't handle that at the moment.
Josephine clapped her hands together. "The sun is almost up, and it has been a long night for us all. We should get some sleep while we can."
Cullen bit back a bitter laugh; if sleep had been elusive before, there was no chance he would be able to find it now.
Most of the group began walking toward the Keep, but Cullen stood there, running a hand through his hair. He wished to remain near the infirmary in case there was any change in Cassandra's condition, but he didn't need to be pacing in worry in front of his men. He had already given them enough of a show as it was. His office seemed too confining — and Cat's room would feel suffocating without her there. He would normally seek solace in the garden's Chantry, but he had ordered all of the nobles to stay there. He didn't need an audience right now, let alone that one.
He startled slightly when a hand clasped his shoulder. He turned to see Dorian, looking as wrung out as he felt.
"I doubt either of us will find any sleep right now, my friend. Come, join me for some brandy."
Cullen shook his head. "I don't think drinking would be wise right now."
Dorian shrugged. "Suit yourself, but I'd still like the company." He walked away slowly, giving Cullen a chance to join him if he wished. Not knowing what else to do, he followed Dorian back to the library.
Normally they would have played chess, but his personal set was missing several pieces, and he wasn't going anywhere near the garden until the nobles had cleared out. Instead, he dragged a hard wooden chair over to Dorian's nook of the library, tapping his feet restlessly while the mage hunted down the 'good stuff' he'd 'liberated' from the 'uncultured swines' in the Herald's Rest.
Dorian eventually reappeared, bottle in one hand and two brandy snifters in the other. He set the glasses on a side table so that he could open the bottle; once the stopper was free he paused to inhale deeply, a pleased smile tilting his perfectly styled mustache.
"They really didn't know what they had, the fools." He gave the bottle a swirl, examining it in the early light, before finally pouring himself a glass.
Cullen just stared at him, unsure how to respond. "Don't you think it's a bit early for brandy?" he finally said.
"Since I haven't been to bed yet, I think that must count for something. And after last night…"
Dorian moved to pour a second glass, but Cullen waved him off. He wasn't a man for drinking — although if there was no work to be done, he might indulge on occasion. And he certainly understood what Dorian meant. Still, he valued his control too much to imbibe when he might be needed at a moment's notice.
They watched in silence as Solas entered the rotunda below and settled into the settee.
"Watch this," Dorian said with a pointed nod. "The man can fall asleep instantly."
Cullen peered over the railing; sure enough, the elven mage below was slumped over and snoring in less time than it had taken him to sit down.
Cullen looked on with disbelief. "Is he always this way?"
"Every time I've seen him. He can even do it out in the field. Covered in muck, dragon, his poor fashion choices, doesn't matter. When he decides to sleep…" Dorian trailed off with a shrug.
The tower was usually the busiest part of the keep; that is not to say it was filled with the sound of gossiping nobles like the Great Hall. Still, between the messengers running to and fro, researchers turning over crinkling pages, ravens squawking occasionally, it was never silent.
But now, silence was everywhere.
The tower lacked its usual signs of life. With everyone in their bedrooms, and the mages attending to Cassandra, there were no hurried footsteps running up and down the stairs. The fussy librarian wasn't around bemoaning the disorganized shelves. A solitary Tranquil researcher worked in her corner, seemingly unaffected by the previous night's uproar, but she wasn't one to make any noise. She had no need to shift in her seat to relieve stiff muscles or to cough to clear a dry throat. Even the rookery was still, most ravens likely sent out to gather intel or issue orders.
Cullen couldn't bear the quiet any longer. "Why do you think they took her?" he blurted out.
If Dorian was surprised by this outburst, he gave no outward sign of it, merely frowning in concentration. "I haven't the faintest idea. It does seem rather out of character for the other side. I thought Corypheus was dead set on killing her. Why take her hostage all of a sudden?"
Cullen mulled the question over. He didn't notice as his eyes grew heavy and his breathing slowed. He was in the Fade before he realized it.
The demon had him trapped and was once again using Neria's form.
A fingernail — no, a claw — dragged across his jaw. He could still see Neria's arm — her severed arm — twenty paces from him.
Cullen was still in pain from the previous round of burning cold. It didn't matter that this was in his head; first just a trick of the demon, now just a trick of the Fade and his own broken mind. No matter what he told himself, he was still in Kinloch Hold and his skin still felt frozen and brittle; unmoving.
"Just let us in. It will stop hurting. It will even be pleasant…" The demon let its promises linger in the air, allowing his own thoughts to fill in the rest.
"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter," he murmured. "I will not falter!" he barked at the demon.
"I know you desire me." The demon had come around to face him wearing Neria's face. Blue eyes— so innocent… She completed her Harrowing only a few days ago — were framed by her dark skin and pale hair.
Cullen knew her eyes hadn't held that innocence in the end. In the short hours of Uldred's rebellion that she had survived, they'd changed dramatically.
They had been so full of fear at first… But they quickly turned frigid with determination, dead set on protecting her unharrowed friends. In the end, they were grotesquely large with betrayal and horror when one of those same friends gave into the demons and plunged a knife into her back.
Cullen had watched, trapped by the demon that currently stood in front of him, unable to help as the shades descended upon her body. They tore her apart, along with all the mages she had died to protect.
The demon pulled him out of his thoughts when she ran a small hand over the generous breasts peeking through a serendipitous (calculated) tear in her mage robes. "I know you've thought about me. Thought about what you would do to me. Thought about slipping me a note, asking me to meet you in a dark hallway so you could lead me to your room. You'd undress me, slowly taking your time, discovering what exactly lies under these robes." She casually tore away more of the fabric on her chest.
"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written." He shouldn't have picked Benedictions. The smell of blood was everywhere. One of his Templar brothers wrote out "his will, his will, his will" over and over in the blood dripping from a hole in his gut. Cullen bit back his nausea.
"I'd go with you now if you want," Surana — no, the demon — told him. "I'd lay down, all sweet and shy, just as you've pictured me. And I know you've pictured me." She gave him that small smile that he had always thought of as kind, but now appeared more like a leer. "Just say yes."
Cullen didn't reply. He searched for another section of the Chant.
Growing tired with this particular farce, the demon said, "No one's going to rescue you. And after this, no one will ever love you."
That's not true, a part of him whispered. You're beyond this. You're free of this. You just need to wake up!
He jerked into consciousness, nearly headbutting Dorian in the process.
"You alright?" Dorian asked, managing to sound concerned and disinterested all at once.
Cullen's heart was racing, and he tried to draw in enough air. "Yes, give me a moment." He leaned forward from the chair he had been slumped in. His neck and back were sore but he didn't mind; it helped pull him back into the here and now.
That same dream, two days in a row. Only this time, he didn't have Cat next to him to help chase it away.
He pinched his temples with one hand, hoping the pressure would help drive the building headache away. It wasn't nearly as effective as Cat's massages, but it alleviated the pain enough. Cullen shook his head. "Sorry. I shouldn't have fallen asleep here."
"You're not the only one to indulge in a little nap, and nowhere near as lazy as some." Dorian nodded toward Solas who was still sleeping below.
Cullen couldn't even pull together the ghost of a smile at Dorian's dig. "Still, I hope my nightmare wasn't too disruptive."
Dorian eyebrows rose in surprise. "I wasn't even aware that you were having a nightmare."
Cullen looked up at his friend. "They why were you hovering over me?"
"Well, I was trying to wake you. Cassandra's conscious, and she wants to see you."