Cullen
1.
How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Could it be... months? Here, in the cells, the time stood still. Those moments Cullen did not spend in delirious haze, he spent reciting the Chant of Light. It kept him occupied. He did not have to think about what had happened. In truth, it had been diffucult to think at all. The pain settled down quite a while ago. At first Cullen blamed the wound on his shoulder, it would not heal properly and even though the bandages were mysteriously changed from time to time, it brought little relief. But it is when his joints and bones themselves started to ache the realisation dawned upon him.
Lyrium withdrawal.
Funny how these things happen. Back at Haven it had been this little voice at the back of his mind, telling Cullen he should quit. But they were in the middle of a war and he wanted to be at his very best. For the Inquisition.
The Inquisition.
His memory was muddled. Every time Cullen tried to recall something, it would send shockwaves through his head, making him groan in pain and drop on the thin layer of straw in the corner of the small cell. What came through was... bad. Kirkwall level of 'bad' and so Cullen would go back to the Chant, his only comfort right now.
Water and bread he received from a silent jailer stopped sating his hunger. This is when Cullen started hearing the Song. He had heard the call of the lyrium before - it was not uncommon for a young templar to forget his next potion, scatterbrained youth he had been. But this... this was different. Strong, dark and hypnotising. An itch so nagging you cannot ignore it. Several times Cullen caught himself tugging on the bandage around his shoulder but managed to stop. This time he snapped out of it just to find the tips of his fingers digging deep into the wound, blood running down his arm. The pain shot through his body but it felt good, for the Song had fallen quiet.
Just to return the next day.
Red. It is red.
His jailer was a templar. Nobody Cullen knew, but a templar should have lyrium. Many times he was just a second away from begging his caretaker for at least a drop. But he refused to be like that. Like a dog on the streets begging for scraps.
Like Samson.
He would not end up like him. Pitiful shell of a man, purposelessly living from one dose to another and biding his time to die. And so Cullen sat in the corner of the cell, drenched in cold sticky sweat and feverishly reciting the canticles, while mindlessly staring at the wall.
And then one day he had arrived.
As Cullen slept, his dreams nothing but the Song, something stirred outside his prison, making him jump up. The thirst took everything out of him and as quickly as he stood up, Cullen had to grab the wall to support himself. It took him a moment to focus his sight and when he did, all air left his lungs as he stumbled backwards, flattening himself against the wall.
Tall and ghoulishly thin, monstrous clawed creature, dressed in a remains of a robe. A darkspawn. The Elder One.
Blessed are they who stand before
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.
The creature came closer and, without a single word, thrust its arm between the bars, its claws stopping an inch away from Cullen's wide - open eyes.
Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.
In their blood the Maker's will is written.
The last words were mere whispers, falling from his lips but the creature heard him. One of the claws lifted Cullen's chin, so that his eyes met the unblinking gaze of the Elder One.
"Tell me something about Maker's will, Commander. Was it His will she sided with the mages, even after seeing what Uldred did to your brothers and sisters? And did His will guide Meredith down the path she had taken? And lastly, was it His will that elevated your preposterous Herald of Andraste ?"
Cullen jerked his head upwards and to the side, trying to get away from the menacing claws.
"How do you know all this?" he hissed, boiling with anger. Those memories were painful but they were his. Neria's pale gentle features as she shakes her head sadly and refuses to understand. Meredith, signing orders to make yet another mage Tranquil for daring to raise his voice at the Templar. And the Inquisitor slashing his palm as he tries to cast a spell, malicious grin on his face. Cullen trusted them all and they all had failed him when they were needed the most.
"You pray to your Maker and does he ever answer?" the voice of the creature seeped through, a slight trace of glee in it.
"He... doesn't." these words fell from his lips before he even realised it. Cullen dedicated all his life to the Chantry and to the Templar Order and it brough nothing but nightmares. Being an obedient templar meant not questioning the world around him, it meant being a magi guard dog on a short lyrium leash.
Mages.
"The Herald chose the mages, did he not?" the Elder One watched him closely, only now Cullen noticed that the claws were gone. "You helped him as best as you could, Commander, and he ignored the voice of reason. How does it feel to elevate a tyrant?"
"He wasn't..." Cullen stuttered for a moment and then slid down the wall, clutching his head with both hands.
The sounds of battle around them, the screams of the dying tearing the air.
"Inquisitor, don't !"
"Get out of my way, Commander! This is not over until I say this is over!"
A small dagger glimmers in the elf's hand. Crimson spatters on the snow and Inquisitor's voice chanting a spell.
"No!" he pushes the Inquisitor hard enough to make him stop casting.
The elf stumbles backwards, his face distorted with fury.
"You dare?! I am the Herald of Andraste! I am the only one who can do this! You all are nothing !"
Lavellan slashes at Cullen with the dagger and he is too slow to react, dagger digging deep into the shoulder, right between the armor plates. The next attack he is ready for. The Inquisitor is not a melee fighter and so next time the elf swings, Cullen disarms him swiftly, ignoring pulsating pain in his shoulder and drives the dagger through Lavellan's stomach.
"If I go you all go down with me!"
A fire spell burns the rope. The twang of the release mechanism.
I trusted him! he screamed, jumping up and latching onto the bars of his cell. The sorrow hurt more than the body did. And look where it got me.
Cullen s raspy laughter bounced off the walls and he let go of the bars, helplessly falling on his knees.
I offer you a choice, Commander. Die in this cell like a dog. Or join me.
Join you?You ? A darkspawn?
The Elder One just kept looking at him, without moving, without blinking.
This word is unclean. I shall cleanse it and bring the dawn of a new era. But I grow tired of meddlers and the monster you had a hand in creating is not dead just yet. Make it right.
He saw the Inquisitor die but there were others. They all followed him blindly like a herd of sheep. An elven mage whose thirst for grandeur had blinded him. Who claimed to be the Herald of the god he did not even believe in. A despicable maleficar.
Cullen said nothing be he did not have to. His trembling hand had outstretched through the bars and a familiar shape of a vial landed in Cullen s palm. Heavy crimson liquid sloshed lazily against its glass walls.
So warm So beautiful...