"These truths the Maker has revealed to me:
As there is but one world,
One life, one death"-Transfigurations 1, The Chant of Light
"You'll have to do better than that," Dorian says, and Ellana loves him for the steady cadence of his voice, for the way he made his voice flippant. She feels sick, as if her heart were going to crawl up her throat, and she can't bring herself to say anything as she forces herself to look into Alexius' eyes.
"You are done," are the only words she can tear from her mouth. He falls to his knees and hangs his head.
"You've won," he says dully to the stone floor. "Let's not continue this charade." Felix, his son, walks slowly over and kneels next to him.
"Felix," Alexius breaths, reaching up to touch his son's shoulder with a gentleness that makes Ellana wince.
"It's all right, father," Felix says gently, as if he were the father comforting the child.
"You'll die!" Alexius' voice echoes out, wracked with pain. Pain he doesn't have a right to, after all he caused. Not after Blackwall and Sera and Leliana and Cul-her breath hitches sharply as she sees her companions come into focus. Sera has kept her bow notched, looking at both Ellana and Dorian slackjawed. Blackwall radiates kind concern, his brow furrowing. She loses focus on them as her eyes fill with tears. She runs over to them, hitting Blackwall's solid mass first, and hugging him. Blackwall's arms wrap around her instantly and she feels safe for the first time since this all started.
"Shh, lass-it's alright," he says gently. Ellana reaches for Sera, grabbing her hand and squeezing it as if to reassure herself the girl still lived.
"Oi! What're you on about?" Sera demands even as she squeezes her hand back.
Ellana laughs before her laughter turns into great racking sobs.
The rest of their ordeal had passed in a blur. King Alistair had arrived, absolutely livid, and had all but physically thrown the mages from Redcliffe. Ellana had made them an offer of sanctuary with the Inquisition and brokered a deal where the mages would work with equal footing with the rest of the Inquisition's members.
In the back of her mind, she knew she had no right to make such an alliance. She knew that after the future she'd seen, she should be frightened of mages and all that they could do. But she thought of Fiona and Connor in that terrible future. Thought about how Fiona had just tried to saved her people, like any good leader would have tried to do. Connor had killed himself in that future to keep from being possessed. But most of all, she thought about how scared they all seemed and how much they had lost, first to the Chantry and their Templar keepers and then Alexius and his Venatori compatriots.
She couldn't force them into another kind of slavery. Everything in her soul rebelled against it.
Ellana didn't talk very much on the journey back to Haven. She'd spent the first night of camp scrubbing the blood from her armor and trying not to cry. After that, the others attempted to gently coax conversation from her with limited success. She didn't talk about Redcliffe and kept one foot in front of the other until they got back to Haven.
When they arrived back in Haven, snow fell lightly over the village. Ellana lets relief wash over her for the first time since the 'incident' in Redcliffe.
She likes the word incident-that's how she described it in her report. 'Time traveling incident'. It helps to make her feel less connected to it, helped to banish the memories of Leliana's blighted skin and harsh words, of the insanity that plagued Blackwall and Sera, the red lyrium humming in their blood. It banished the thought of the red lyrium growing out of his shoulder and the hatred in his eyes-
She shakes her head to banish the thoughts and wishes Sera and Blackwall farewell with one final hug to them both. Sera makes a face before prancing off to the tavern, 'not willing to deal with that lovey-dovey shite' and Blackwall hugs her as tightly as he did in Redcliff.
"You alright?" he asks, his whiskers tickling the top of her head.
"'M fine," she mutters against his chestplate. She looks up at him and forces a smile. "I'll come talk to you later, yeah?" He nods and, hesitating as if thinking better of it, presses a kiss to the top of her forehead and rustles a hand over the top of her hair. She watches him go before trudging her way through the snow covered roads to the Chantry. The flaming sun on the doors help to steady her and, with a deep sigh, she pushes open the chantry doors.
The leaders of the Inquisition are waiting the middle of the chantry, as if waiting for her return, and her heart skips in her chest to see them. Cassandra nods to her. Josephine worries at her bottom lip as she listens to Cullen. Ellana can't make out the words. Leliana smiles warmly, beautiful and whole and gloriously alive. Ellana pulls her into a tight hug before she can stop herself, reassuring herself that her friend lives and remains whole. Her voice sounds right as she chuckles softly, patting Ellana on the back. Ellana turns to Cullen, intent on hugging him as well, ignoring the phantom flashes of red that dance across her eyes, and stops short of him.
"It is not a matter for debate," Cullen says hotly to Josephine. "There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared!"
"If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best and tyrannical at worst!" Josephine answers, diplomatic urging in her voice. Cullen turns her gaze on Ellana. An expression of blazing anger lights his face and makes her wince. His amber eyes looked at her with such hatred, such a longing for death-
"What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight?" he demands. "The veil is torn open!"
"I made them our allies," she says unsurely. "They've a right to their freedom." Cullen scoffs.
"Their freedom?" he echoes. "Their freedom to what? Become possessed and rip through our people as abominations?"
"You're assuming that they will," she says, remembering Connor slitting his own throat in that bleak future. No, not again! You can't have me again! "You can't know that they will."
"Demons pour from the breach every day. Powerful demons. The circles were not perfect but they did help in their own way. Mages do not need to be left unchecked. It isn't safe! And you," he accuses, rage underlying his words though his tone is calm. "You just give them free reign, close your eyes and hope for the best, is that it?" Ellana feels her temper snap at his words. Exhaustion weighs down her bones. All she wants is to hug everyone she'd lost in that horrible future and get sodding drunk in an effort to banish these awful memories of the future that should not have been.
"I am sorry, Ser Templar," she hurls the word at him as if it were an insult and she can see him clench his teeth. "But I will not shackle mages to the Inquisition's will. I will make no one a slave."
"You," he breathes. "Are foolish and far too idealistic. You insist on seeing the good to the exclusion of everything else, even ignoring the possibility that abominations could happen-"
"And you," she spits just as viciously. "Insist on focusing on what these people could become instead of what they are!"
"And what are they, praytell, besides dangerous?" he shouts and she refuses to let the booming of his voice cow her. She glares at Cullen through the sheen of tears she rejects. She will not let them fall, not in front of him, the insufferable arsehole!
"Scared!" she yells, and her voice echoes through the Chantry, mingling with his. "Scared people!" Cullen opens his mouth, as if to reply, but Cassandra's voice cuts through the air.
"Enough!" she shouts. "None of us were there. We cannot afford to second guess our own people. The sole point of the Herald's mission was to gain the mage's aid, and that was accomplished."
"The voice of pragmatism speaks!" A voice says. They turn to see Dorian emerge from the darkness. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms, and says, "And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments."
"Dorian," Ellana says, relief bleeding into her voice.
"Is he a Tevinter mage?" Cullen asks, the low light of the candles dancing along his face and making his expression unreadable. "You recruited a Tevinter mage?" Ellana turns around to Cullen, looking him in the eyes again. She will not falter.
"This Tevinter mage saved all of our lives! He is the one who sent us back to this time, and so we can prevent a future where the Elder One wins! A future where Leliana loses her light, where everyone is dead, where even you-!" She snaps her mouth shut, glaring off to the side stubbornly.
"Herald," Cullen breaths, exhaustion hanging heavy in his voice, and he rubs the bridge of his nose. Ellana almost feels guilty when she looks back at him to see the dark circles underneath his eyes illuminated by candlelight. "You do understand Tevinter's reputation?"
"Oh yes," Dorian says dryly. "Tevinter is just full of evil moustache twirling mages waiting to subjugate everyone with orgies and blood magic. That is the reputation to which you are referring to, is it not?"
"All I understand is that this conversation is over, Commander," she says, ice hanging off of her words, and turning on her heel. She walks past Cassandra to Dorian and gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile.
"Well," he says lowly in her ear. "I believe I saw a tavern on the way up here. What do you say to getting gloriously, unabashedly drunk?"
"Dorian," she says, linking her arm in his and ignoring Cullen's fuming behind her. "I believe you've just become my new best friend."
The two of them enter the tavern and Ellana shivers despite the warmth. The bard plays softly and she focuses on the tune to slow the heart pounding in her chest. She sees Sera and the other elf waves before looking warily at her.
"You ain't gonna try and hug me again, are you?" she asks, and Ellana laughs.
"No. I'm going to wait until you least expect it," she answers. Sera snorts, sliding a tanker of ale over to her.
"Right. Here to get drunk, yeah? Let's not talk about that Redcliffe shite, alright? Shite like that doesn't happen."
"Right," Ellana says, picking up her ale and taking a sip. She drinks her first one rather quickly, letting the coolness of it burn a path down her aching throat. The snow that Flissa put in the drink to make it cold melts against her lips and she licks the moisture away before setting her empty mug down. She follows Dorian to the bar and he orders two more ales, setting one in front of her. She picks it up automatically, already feeling a light-headedness that makes her vision swim. Dorian watches her drink for a moment before speaking.
"So, trouble in paradise?" he asks sympathetically. She chokes on her ale, coughing and sputtering so hard that Dorian pats her back.
"I beg your pardon?" she wheezes.
"That commander," Dorian says unsurely, taking a sip of his drink. "You two are having a lover's quarrel, yes? Over the mages?" Ellana groans, leaning forward to rest her forehead against the bar. She focuses on the grainy dirt floor of the tavern.
"We're not lovers," she says to her boots. "Not even remotely."
"Ah," Dorian says. "My apologies. I had assumed from your behavior at-"at this, his voice freezes to a halt. She hears him swallow another drink of ale and she knows where they're both thinking of.
"Yeah, I can see how you would think that," she mutters. A little more loudly than she'd planned, she adds, "He hates my guts."
"Does he now?" Dorian asks playfully. "Such a shame, that. He is rather handsome." She groans again, lifting her head groggily.
"Don't even get me started," she says seriously, looking him in the eyes. "I could write sonnets about that stupid scar on his lip." Dorian laughs musically, and she can't help but smile as well.
"Odes to his cheekbones," Dorian agrees earnestly.
"Epics about his eyes," Ellana giggles.
"Villanelles singing the praises of that fantastic looking arse!" He says with a wink.
"Dorian!" she exclaims loudly, leaning over to playfully punch his shoulder and stumbling out of her seat. She falls against his chest, feeling him laughing against her cheek, and his hands brace themselves on her shoulders. He gently helps her back onto her barstool and she hiccups.
"He isn't just pretty," she says solemnly, a slight slur to her words. She takes another drink and idly thinks that she should stop, that maybe she has had enough, but she pushes that thought down. This is the most relaxed and happy she has been since Redcliffe and she wants that feeling to last as long as possible.
"He's kind and smart and brave," she says. "He's patient with me when I ask stupid questions. He calls me callow and foolishly optimistic but there's this crinkle around his eyes when he says it and he purses his lips trying not to smile." She gives Dorian her best impression of what he assumes is the Commander trying not to smile. She smiles dreamily, her eyes looking past Dorian to no doubt look upon the memory of the Commander. She snaps to attention at Dorian's chuckle and says quietly, as if telling him a secret,
"Did I mention he is kind?"
"No, not at all." Dorain says, amused. "Tell me all about it."
"Well," she starts, stretching her arms out in front of her. "Once he stopped a training exercise to find two lost elven children. And, I know you don't know the commander, but training the army is his life. That man lives and breathes for designing training exercises. I'm sure if he'd ever had any children they'd be named Military Tactics and Trebuchet." At this, Dorian snorts into his ale, and curses when he spills some on the front of his shirt. Ellana sheepishly hands him a bar towel before continuing.
"The children's mother came to Cassandra for help, and he overheard. Stopped the whole exercise and put the soldiers to work looking for them. Of course, they hadn't gone far-playing hide and seek across the lake. But he found them-carried them back in his arms, and he was talking to them. Not yelling but talking." Dorian's eyes cut over to the doorway to see the blonde commander enter the tavern. He's out of the armor Dorian had seen him wear earlier and clad in a simple tunic and breaches. He looks less intimidating and sure of himself out of his armor. Cullen's eyes land on Ellana and his face melts into a sheepish expression.
"Oh? I'm assuming this is a big deal?" Dorian says, moving his body slightly to block Ellana's view of the commander. She nods vigorously.
"He didn't yell-he scolded them, sure, but his voice was quiet and gentle. He told them how much they'd frightened their mother and how fortunate he was to have found them before they'd gotten hurt. For a human to care so much about two elven children was just-" Her voice trails off and stops her story, her eyes following the path behind Dorian's shoulder, and she groans, her head collapsing into her arms.
"He hates me," she mumbles, groping blindly for her ale. Her hand knocks into it, spilling a bit on the counter. Dorian watches the commander gracelessly attempt to sneak into a booth in the back of the tavern. He notices the way the commander looks at Ellana over his cup of ale and the way he rubs his neck nervously every so often. Cullen looks like a man uncomfortable in his own skin. Dorian finds himself reminded of a skittish dog ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.
Ah, he thinks to himself.
"I wouldn't go that far," Dorian murmurs in what he hopes is a reassuring tone, patting her shoulder. He can't really tell anymore with the way he's slurring his words.
"No, he hates me," she insists. She groans again pitifully. Dorian pours himself out of his seat and gingerly steps around her. Her head doesn't lift up. He catches the commander's gaze and motions to his newly vacated seat. Cullen looks at Dorian, then Ellana unsurely before standing up. He moves past Dorian and gently sits down next to her.
"I just want him to like m-" she slurs, lifting her head up and freezing when she sees Cullen sitting where Dorian was. "Ack!"
"Herald," Cullen says uncertainly.
Dorian tip toes his way to the door and bites back a smile when he hears Ellana's answering groan.
"Commander," she mumbles, avoiding his gaze. "To what do I owe this-hic-pleasure? I mean, it's not a pleasure." She blushes. "I mean, it is, but not like that kind, and-ugh." She drops her head back down to the bar with a loud thud that makes Cullen wince.
"How much have you had to drink?" he asks, trying not to cringe when he notices his words come out in what Leliana and Josephine call his 'stern commander voice'. Ellana opens one eye to look balefully at him.
"Come to yell at me about that too?" she asks.
"I-" he thinks about lecturing her about having too much to drink. She's is so young, after all, and while that mage did save all of their lives, he does want to reprimand her for drinking with strange men. The thought of her with the mage causes his stomach to clench in a strange and unwelcome way. But it would just be a way to forestall why he really walked through the snow to a tavern he never spent time in. All he sees is how miserably dejected she looks; a far cry from the happy and bouncing girl she normally was.
"If you have a lecture ready, I'd love to hear it!" His expression softens and he gives her a gentle smile.
"No," he says. "I haven't come to yell again. I've come to apologize. I looked at your report again-really looked at it. And my actions toward you earlier were unworthy of me." She sighs.
"Redcliffe," she states, her voice trembling around the name. "'The time-travelling incident'."
"Yes. About the time travelling incident." Her face contorts in a grimace, as though he'd physically struck her, and her eyes shine like the glass of Haven's Chantry as she loses herself in memories she had tried so hard to drown in drink.
"Don't," Leliana said harshly, the rough timbre of her voice so unlike what Ellana knew. It was wrong-this was all wrong. Ellana ignored her, falling to her knees next to the red Templar they'd fought. Red lyrium grew out of his shoulder and the dull light of the sky-Creators, of the dull, fade torn sky- reflected weakly off of the crystals. He was still breathing but wouldn't be for long. He inhaled raggedly, blood gurgling in his throat, and Ellana saw trickles of blood drip from his lips. She gently pulled him onto her lap, his head rested against her shoulder, as he wheezed, and lovingly ran her hands over the broken skin of his cheeks and the dry, matted tangles of what was once his blonde hair. She presses her lips to his temple as he coughs, bright red blood staining the front of her armor.
"Cullen," she says softly. "Cullen, can you hear me?" He growled, his hand strained for the sword lying just out of reach, and he coughed again. She closed her eyes, pressed her forehead against his.
"It isn't him, lass," Blackwall's gruff voiced echoed in her ears, and even in this future he is good enough to sound apologetic. "It hasn't been him for a long time." She ignored him, tears falling down her cheeks, and pressed her lips softly against his. He growled again, trying to bite her, but could only manage to move his lips weakly against hers. She opened her eyes to his amber eyes glowing with a fierce hate, underlined with a tint of red, and fading fast.
He deserved better. They all did.
Dread Wolf take her! What were the verses from the Chant of Light Leliana had taught her? Why hadn't she paid more attention during those impromptu lessons given cheerfully by Leliana, who had been so full of life? She needed to send him off-it wasn't right for him to die alone, separated from his God, bleeding out underneath a demon sky in this future that never should be, with only silence to send him on his path.
"B-blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and wicked and do not falter," she stuttered, not sure if her words were right and her breath ghosting against his lips. He groaned, as if in pain, and weakly lifted his hand to tangle in her hair. At first, she thought he'd had a mind to strangle her, but his hand pushed gently on the back of her head. His lips weakly brushed hers again, in a parody of a kiss, and she could taste his blood.
"We don't have time for this," Leliana's wrong voice beat like a drum in Ellana's ears.
"Blessed are the peace keepers, champions of the just," Ellana whispered. His hand fell away from her hair with a dull thud. Cullen's head tilted back, his eyes unseeing and reflecting the breached sky. Ellana's next words were choked by a sob. "Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow."
"Come on," Dorian said gently, leaning down next to her. She held on to Cullen and sobbed until she screamed, unwilling to let Dorian pry her fingers from Cullen's cheek.
"We can't let this future come to pass," Dorian said and his voice broke at her pain. "We have to keep moving."
In their blood the Maker's will is written.
Cullen watches Ellana as she comes back to herself. She had seemingly faded away, dragged under the currents of memory and Cullen's heart wrenched. She reminds him of himself, ten years younger and freshly wounded.
"Herald?" he asks quietly, keeping his voice low. "Are you all right?" He tries not to wince-he keeps his voice gentle and he sounds like those Chantry sisters Greagoir has sent to hover over him. He doesn't touch her but keeps his voice gentle as if she were a suffering animal. Her eyes focus on his and he feels as if he's truly seeing her for the first time.
"Whatever you're seeing," he says kindly. "It can no longer hurt you." She blinks and her distant expression begins to crumble.
"The world was gone," she says and her voice begins to break. "The breach had consumed the sky. Sera and Blackwall were held prisoner and they had been driven mad by red lyrium. They sacrificed themselves so we could get back. Leliana-" At this, she begins to cry and her shoulders begin to shake with great, racking sobs. "Leliana had been poisoned, and her light extinguished. She'd killed Josephine to save her from the Elder One. And you-" She reaches out, clumsily cupping his cheek. He gasps at the warmth of her hand against his skin and, without thinking, leans into her touch.
"You were a red Templar," she whispers and he winces. He knows, had his life gone differently, that he would have been one of them. "Red lyrium grew out of your shoulder. You were a monstrous thing and I-" She sniffs, and looks away from him. She removes her hand from his cheek and he tilts his head to follow it before he could stop himself.
"I ran you through," she whispers into the silence of the now-empty tavern. "I ran you through and watched you die." She buries her face in her arms and cries into them. She does her best to muffle the sounds of her sobs. She seems to fold into herself and Cullen does something he would later consider foolish. She hardly notices when strong arms wrap around her and gently pull her to a hard chest. Cullen hugs her to him, careful not to hold her too tightly. His arms are draped loosely around her to allow her the freedom to pull away.
"That future is far from you now," he says softly. "And it will not come to pass." She sniffs loudly, and her arms tentatively wrap around his waist to hug him back. Her tears fall and feel cold as they soak into his tunic.
"You were right," she whispers. "I shouldn't have given the mages a full alliance. I should be afraid of them. They have the potential to become horrid monsters." At her words a sick dread clenches in his chest and drops into his stomach.
Mages cannot be treated like people. They are not like you and me. They are weapons.
"No," he says softly, holding her tighter despite himself. "No. Even after all you'd been through, you remembered that they were people and treated them as such. The Inquisition will honor your alliance-we would be remiss not to do so."
"But the abominations," she whispers.
"It will be difficult, and abominations will doubtless happen," he says. "But we've the manpower to keep disaster from spreading." She nods and he feels her cheek rubbing against his chest.
Her head fits snugly underneath his chin and her hold on his waist tightens. She is in desperate need of a bath-Cullen can smell the scent of the road clinging to her hair. She feels so pliant and trusting in his arms, and he tells himself it would be alright to keep holding her for just a little while longer. He eventually pulls her off of her barstool and helps her to stand upright, trying not to focus on how he takes every care to make sure he still touches her-a hand on her shoulder, an arm around her waist.
"All right, Herald," he says softly against her temple. "I think it's past time for you to go to bed."
"I don't wanna sleep," she mumbles, even as she yawns widely. She leans her head against his shoulder and he keeps an arm around her waist. He walks her out of the tavern into the biting cold air of Haven's night and she shivers. He shivers in return when he feels her press closer against him in an attempt to warm herself. She slips on the icy ground in front of her lodgings and he keeps a firm grip on her, holding her against his chest to keep her from falling.
"Thank you," she mutters, placing a hand on his bicep to steady herself. She looks up at him, her eyes red and puffy. Her gaze is drowsy from drink and lack of sleepy but she still focuses her eyes on his. He still holds her and she feels delicate in his arms. He feels that he could break her with the slightest squeeze. He looks down at her, really looks-takes in the way the moonlight reflects off of her eyes, the way the shadows dance across the branches of her vallaslin, how her tiny tongue reaches out to wet her dry lips-
She is a child,he thinks sternly to himself. And drunk and grieving besides. But she is so close to him, her hot breath dancing across his cheek and, Maker help him but he is a weak man. She tilts her head back ever so slightly and his breath erupts from him in a strangled gasp. His eyes focus on her lips and he'd like nothing more than to lean down to taste them. He forces himself to step back.
"Commander Cullen?" she asks unsurely and he gives her a shaky smile.
"I should take my leave, Herald," he says in a voice far steadier than how he feels. His heart pounds a rough beat that makes his blood dance.
"Please promise me that future won't happen," she pleads and his blood cools at how childlike she sounds. "I don't want to have to kill you." He holds out his hands without thinking and she slips her own within the safety of his fingers.
"My lady," he says, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. "That future will never come to pass, and I will never turn my blade against you. I will work tirelessly to see the world remain as it is, if not made better." She nods, and the tension seems to bleed out of her. She sags her shoulders and sighs.
"Thank you, Commander," she says, her words still slightly slurred. "I should rest easier now, hearing those words from you."
"Of course, Herald." She turns from him, and he allows her hands to drag across his palms before separating from him. He watches as she walks unsteadily into the cottage that remains her quarters and she places a hand against the doorframe. She looks back over her shoulder to smile at him before disappearing inside. He sighs explosively, raking a hand through his hair, and looks up as a light snow begins to fall.