Cullen had to wait a full day before he was able to act. He was a fairly patient man. Templars weren't allowed to be otherwise. Meditation, chantry life, standing hours on end in a hall, they had to be patient. In fact, Cullen knew most hours standing around on guard duty were spent meditating for a good chunk of the Tower's Templars. Or daydreaming. Sometimes that amounted to the same thing. Not recently, but in the past, at least, everybody meditated through guard duty.
At least everybody stopped giving him those looks. Some knowing, others finding humor, and plenty confused. But the looks stopped. He was no longer the only one stiff, flushed, or simply dazed. Few people got sleep, and few of the others questioned his long nights. It was a small thing, but it helped. Cullen had never been much of a liar, as proven with the years of trying to hide his infatuation with Amell.
Infatuation was such a tame word for what he felt- was doing.
The day had been spent in a lull. The last two days had been anxious, but it seemed the Tower was slowly beginning to relax again. Nobody did so consciously, but only Greagoir seemed completely on edge still. But he often was. There were a lot of problems with the coming lull. It was planned by Uldred, to begin with. Obviously the man was a complete master at mind fuckery, which, considering his dealings with demons, Cullen was far from surprised. Even as he knew it, he too had fallen into a small sense of security during the two days of nothing happening. Things were relatively normal. Two days of nothing.
That was the real problem though.
Cullen, to his ever mounting shame, had a plan for smuggling out Amell. There were variables he wasn't sure of. Such as, how would she react. And what exactly was happening during their escape. Because the one thing Cullen was not going to do was actually create a distraction. He would not help Uldred. He was going to have a hard enough time looking at himself in the mirror after this. He was going to have a hard time looking at Amell, after this.
He was on his break, when the chance arrived, spending it on his knees before the statue of Andraste. He prayed, begged. For what, Cullen wasn't entirely sure. Forgiveness, understanding, a blessing. Simply for Amell to be safe. Perhaps all of the above, Cullen thought, shoulders sagging as he opened his eyes to stare at his clasped hands. What use was it? Was he not supposed to love Andraste over all others?
A snide part of him always loved to butt in. Saying she had the Maker, she had a husband. What did she need him for? Or better yet, why would he want her? What could Andraste give him? What could she do that Amell could not? Amell was here, and she was real. She he could touch.
Cullen pushed these thoughts as far away as possible. Especially when he kneeled before Her in the chantry. Such thoughts were wrong. They were blasphemous. But then, wasn't everything he was doing? Everything he felt? Cullen shut his eyes tight, mumbling The Chant of Light. Of course then he hears her. Just a quiet murmur, but he knows it's her. She is rarely louder than that. Most people are not loud in the Tower.
And Andraste's fine flaming ass, does she distract him. His lips fumble with the words to the chant, his eyes try to open. His muscles bunch and tense as he tries to follow her movements. Not just because he wishes he could look at her. Not just because it's so much better to look instead of imagine her face, her smiles, her curves. But because he needs to know she is safe.
Cullen knows then, when the Tower is full of screams of demons and twisted blood magic, that this is a test from Andraste herself. Kneeling there in the Chantry, with her just across the room, both beneath the visage of Her, that it was a test. Cullen realized it, as he grabbed a hold of Amell's forearm, and he stills for a moment. He can see the way the candles flicker around them and can hear the wails of demons. He tries to think, knowing She watched. What was the correct answer? Save Amell, stick to his conviction, protect her? Or his duty to the Chantry as a Templar? Andraste was kind, loving, forgiving. Cullen was no Mother, and had no right to try and guess Andraste's intentions.
Cullen only hoped, when he finally looked down at Amell again, that the fear that tainted her beautiful face was because of the demons in the halls and not because of him. Licking his severely dry lips, he pulled her out into the hall. "Cullen?" she says, looking from him to the hissing ash wraiths that were falling through the walls, attacking the Templars that charged them. Cullen pulled her along easily. She wasn't struggling, yet. She was hesitant, the wavier in her voice said as much. But she trusted him enough.
Maker, he hoped it was trust and not fear.
She hadn't feared him, grew angry with him when he told her that he was supposed to strike her down should she have failed her Harrowing. She had simply smiled sadly, nodding her head. He liked to tell himself he would have struck her down. But he had wondered, before all this happened if he would have. At least he had his answer now. Even knowing it was a demon, so long as it wore her skin- Cullen shivered at that thought, his grip tightening on her arm.
Her whimper was enough to make him come back. The screams, the roars of the demons, the hissing of the wraiths, all of it came flooding back. Swallowing hard, he pushed her behind him. "Stay here, please," he said to her, getting her behind one of the statue's alcoves, walking to Brennan. A quick conversation later, and Cullen knew what he was up against. Two rage demons, a couple walking corpses, and a little less than a dozen ash wraiths. Where Uldred had come up with the bodies, Cullen wasn't sure. Not that the idea of Uldred collecting bodies was all that surprising. And the more they killed, the bigger his army would be.
A scary fact that urged Cullen to move faster.
When he turned around he saw Amell emerging from the alcove, glancing down the hall. He probably should have expected her not to listen to him. He grabbed her again, her gasp making his heart hurt as he pulled her along. "Cullen, what are you doing?" she asked, keeping her voice quiet. Not that it mattered. His armor didn't allow for stealth.
"Hush." He said, and then added, "Please." He didn't have to look at her to know that her lips were jutted out in a pout, dark eyes narrowed.
"What are we doing? Shouldn't you be telling me to get to my room because of lock down? And you go and kill things like a proper Templar?"
He sincerely hoped she missed the way he flinched at her words. When he didn't respond she gave a huff and stumbled after him. Cullen knew she didn't have much of a choice, he was stronger than her and his grip on her arm was solid, but it eased some guilt to know she wasn't actually struggling. They went to the first floor, easily avoiding most of the horde. Amell glanced around, slowing down as she became more confused. Cullen continued to pull her along.
There was an emergency escape route from the basement where the phylacteries used to be held. They currently still were. There hadn't been enough time to move them. Cullen had considered destroying her's as they passed through. He hadn't come to a decision on that. He licked his lips again, pushing open the door and ignoring her cries of protest as he dragged her in.
Unlike most other Templars, Cullen didn't get much sleep at night. He tended to avoid secluded areas that let his mind wander. Especially at the beginning, when it was fascination, wonderment, and so new. At some point he had accepted his feelings for Amell. But the sin that came along with them, that he avoided. He ended up in the libraries often, reading to keep his mind occupied from images of her, and fantasies of 'what could have been' scenarios.
He had come upon an old book about the Tower. No doubt left there by Anders. An obvious, beautiful hiding spot. Keep it in plain sight, and nobody else would find it. Nobody did, accept Cullen, who had been so desperate he picked up the book. Finding, instead of a list of herbs and their uses, the prints of the Tower had been a surprise. He had read it out of boredom. Finding the different escape methods, many of which explained how Anders had gotten out over the years, and old rooms left unused.
He had contemplated taking the book to Greagoir. It had never happened since he hadn't finished the book. It still sat on the bookshelf, labeled under herbs and poisons. Another failure on his part. He wasn't a very good Templar, Cullen was beginning to realize. "What are we doing?" she said, startling him out of his thoughts. He looked back and froze.
She was terrified.
Cullen glanced back, estimating how far they had to go. He had ran this route during the last few nights. He rarely ever had night shifts, and was generally given free reign to walk the halls. He checked the route, making sure the boat was sturdy that was there. Anders likely paid somebody to take it back- which actually explained the rouge merchant they found wandering the lower levels since their ferryman had sworn he hadn't brought him over. Nobody really trusted the drunk fisherman though, and both men had been penalized. But the boat was in perfect condition and he had smuggled some bags of food down to wait for them.
All he needed to do was get Amell there. On the boat. He swallowed, trying to find the words. He knew he was going to have to explain. He had known it. But he always had problems formulating the right sentences around her. Now, explaining this- it was worse than when he had stuttered foolishly over the words explaining he was supposed to kill her. He hadn't meant to tell her that, but it had slipped. At least now he meant to tell her. A slight improvement from before. "There is an escape route through here. A tunnel really." Maker, don't let him babble.
"You're running away?" The way she said it made him angry, and guilty, and tense all at the same time. Something must have flickered across his expression because she instantly was cowed and tried to back up.
"I'm getting you to safety," he said finally, gentling his hold on her arm. Damn his armor, he thought. She was going to bruise he bet.
Her look was one of a lack of comprehension. Cullen wondered, briefly, if she honestly did not know of his obsession with her. He had always been sure she- nobody knew the actual depth of his obsession. Even he hadn't thought he had fallen this far. But did she really have no idea what he felt for her? Was she that daft or did she not care to notice? Or was it simply she hadn't thought he was so infatuated to try this?
Whatever her reasons, she began to vehemently claw at his arm.
"No. No no no no no!" she said, pulling against him, eyes wide with unshed tears. Cullen watched with awe as she fought him. He didn't respond, his mind trying to catch up to the change. It wasn't until he felt the electricity trickle across his armor, seeping through to his skin. Her fingers gave a crackle as the blue lightning danced from the long fingers. He could feel the goosebumps pebble across his arm as his hair began to singe. Training, instinct, and perhaps fear pushed him ahead quicker than his thoughts could. He reached out and began to pull at her magic.
Even with her strangled gasp, he couldn't stop.
He found the tendrils of her magic and he pulled, tugged, and ripped them from her. His body warmed with the feeling of swallowing her essence, part of her being. It was only when she fell limp in his arms that Cullen fully realized what he had done. She fell against his chest and he tried to keep her from crashing against his hard breastplate. His arms slowly reached around her, shaking beneath the heavy armor. "No," she whispered, ending up clinging to him to remain standing. He imagined it was her first time experiencing a drain, and that made his gut wrench.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, curling around her protectively. And then he swept her off her feet, cradling her as he turned and continued through the cold mumbled incoherently into his neck as he carried, her mind dazed. He glanced back at the doorway, seeing nothing there. He then glanced at where the vials of blood were. Her blood hadn't been sent yet. After everything that had happened, there were three mages vials set aside, awaiting transfer to somewhere Cullen didn't know. He took a steadying breath, clutched her tighter, and hurried.
He might as well go the whole mile.
Cullen found her vile of blood and considered dropping it there on the floor. His breath came out in white puffs and she whimpered in his arms. He almost dropped it, threw it against the ground. But his hand stilled, and he carefully stuffed it away in his satchel. Not because he wanted a way to find her always- though a sick part of him he kept so deep and hidden wasn't just contemplating it- but because he had no right to make this decision for her. In the end, what to do with her blood was her own decision.
He clung to her, trying to be gentle as he pulled her closer to him. He thought he knew her. But her reaction had shocked him- terrified him. He couldn't imagine, anymore, how she would respond to him handing her the blood. He wasn't sure what he would do if she acted out again. He could not imagine pushing her away again. But this had to happen. He had to keep her away from Uldred. He could not let her wither and die beneath him. Or worse. Become twisted and broken in such a way that she wasn't so beautiful and perfect anymore.
Amell had stopped babbling, which while a good thing overall, meant he needed to be on the boat. Now. He was not going to fight her again. He carried her down, hunching when the passage quickly became small and tight. He could feel his shoulders and arms grate against the walls, but at least she was comfortable in his arms. That was more important. She didn't touch the walls. He only wished he had a blanket to keep her warm.
Then they emerged to the back and the air was no longer stale. He took a deep breath, turning towards the boat. The cliffs let out to the corrupt and contaminated water, the spray possibly dangerous against them. He carried her quickly to the boat, stopping only to pick up the bag. He laid her gently in the boat, the bag beside her.
Next came the hard part. He couldn't wear his heavy armor in the small fishing boat. His sword was going to be a problem in and of itself. But his armor would sink them. Leaving it though- he took a deep steadying breath and reached for the buckles. He had worn this armor forever it seemed. He had spent so long cleaning it, its heavy weight giving him a feeling of safety. But as he held the breastplate up Amell gave a groan, her hand flailing to the edge of the boat. She was going to hurt her hand the way she clumsily beat the edge for a grip.
He quickly shed the rest of his armor and pushed the boat out into the water. Crawling in he guided her hand back into the boat, smoothing her dark brown hair back. When she turned into the palm of his hand he couldn't stop the way his heart jumped into his throat. To feel the soft skin of her cheek against his palm, and for her to seek his hand out, it made him almost forget to row.
He turned to the oars. Lake Calenhad was often calm, beautiful, and serene. It was no different that day. Still waters run deep, however, and Cullen made sure to take care to not rock the boat. He knew how to swim well enough. Amell however, he wasn't sure. And since she still was dazed, he was confident that she would sink. As they drifted and he pushed, Amell slowly began to glance around, coming to with her surroundings. She curled up, hiding from the light and- he thought- him. Cullen closed his eyes and pulled harder on the oars.
And, I don't have much to say for this chapter. Other then Cullen really does have to be my favorite LI in DAO, and he really wasn't one. But I loved him so much. So much more than Alistair, or Zevran, or the chicks. Course, I was also rather impressed with Teagan and Cailian too (Cailan would have been most of my Warden's little boy bitch, honestly :D).
Anyway, reviews are appreciated.