Author's note (May 23, 2016)

Hey dears,

unfortunately I have to put both my stories on a possibly month-long hiatus. Unexpected health issues aren't allowing me to keep writing for a while, but I will be back as soon as I can. I hope you can all understand and that you will return to this story once I am able to write again.

Thank you so much for sticking with this story and see you soon!

3. Dawn Will Come

The pressure was building up again. It came in waves, gathering behind his eyes, making his head throb. The accompanying nausea made him crumple down, gnawing at his insides. The world narrowed as his forehead broke out in sweat and the shivers kicked in. No. There wasn't any time for weakness. She was still missing.

Cullen slid his hands over his face, the touch grounding him for a mere moment. Another rush of pain assaulted his head, invisible daggers stabbing at his temples. His head clouded up, thoughts shrouded in thick fog that numbed his senses. He needed to focus, to break through the walls in his mind. He couldn't afford to be anything less than his best. It was already a lost battle, but he kept trying.

He was so lost in his head that he barely registered the hesitant steps nearing the tent. He was the Commander, being caught in such a position was not acceptable. With great effort, he forced himself to straighten his back to face the messenger entering the tent. Faint hope rose in his chest, emerging through the fog and softening the pained expression on his face.

He kept his voice level, concealing his inner turmoil. "Any news?"

The messenger looked nervous, unsure where to place his arms. In the end, he settled for hiding them behind his back. "No, ser. The scouts have found no trace of the Herald."

Rage roared in Cullen's head, erasing all other emotions. His gloved fist collided with a tent pole, cracking the wood in a spray of splinters. A part of the tent caved in, enveloping Cullen in fabric.

Great. That was exactly what he had intended to do. To look like an ass in front of a messenger.

He fought his way out from the insistent embrace of the tent, eyes lit with indignation. The hard truth sunk in as he stared in the general direction of the messenger who hadn't dared to move nor comment on what he had witnessed.

She was gone. Atheril was gone.

Cullen curled his hands in fists. No. She had to be alive. She was their only hope. They needed her. He needed her.

Not wasting time to grace the messenger with a response, he strode from the tent and pushed past clusters of templars that had gathered near their Commander's post. He stopped in a small clearing between the tents they had put up over the days, letting his glance slide over the injured and otherwise distraught soldiers. The smell of blood and festering wounds was still ripe in the air, refusing to be blown away by harsh mountain winds that swept over the camp, making people shiver as they huddled for warmth. Cullen placed his hands on his hips in a defiant motion, challenging the cold and the scent of despair in the air.

"Inquisition!" His voice roared over the camp, silencing talks and drawing everyone's attention to him. "Are there still some soldiers left who are capable of scouting the area and finding the Herald? Do we have anyone who can actually fulfil their duty?"

His voice, low and angry and laced with venom, was met with silence and weary eyes. By the Maker, was this what the Inquisition was made of? Hopeless rabble. Hiding their tails between their legs as soon as disaster struck, instead of stepping up? Was this really the best they had?

"I'm available."

A dwarf in scout armour stepped forward, her ginger hair a mess and left cheek still bloodied by the attack on Haven. She looked familiar, but the haze in Cullen's head prevented him from recalling her name. She seemed to have noticed. "Scout Harding at your service, ser."

Cullen nodded. He had heard good things about her. Recruited by one of Leliana's people, if he wasn't mistaken. He had been mistaken too often recently. "Good. Anyone else?"

After a moment of hesitation, a few more people joined the circle, assembling a search party of six. That was sufficient. It was less than she deserved, but even Cullen himself had to admit he had been driving the soldiers too hard and that he was running out of rested forces to use. The past few days had been draining everyone of their hope and energy. They could sustain their bodies on the meagre food they had taken from Haven during the evacuation, but their minds were wilting. They would keep wilting unless something miraculous happened.

Atheril could be that miracle. Cullen refused even the idea that she could be dead. That was a ridiculous notion. She was the Herald of Andraste. She was alive. She had to be alive or they would all be doomed.

For the next few hours, he clung to his fervent need to find her alive. The image of Atheril safe and sound helped to drive back the song of lyrium in his blood, though even his resolve faltered when the mountains grew dark and their search had not achieved anything besides creating deep tracks that covered the snow in a criss-cross pattern.

"Ser, it's getting dark. We should head back before we lose track of our location." Scout Harding's suggestion was hesitant, her eyes slanted downward in worry. As much as Cullen didn't want to admit it, she was right. They hadn't eaten enough to stay out for this long and they lacked any way of showing light. Even the moon was hidden behind clouds, refusing to offer assistance.

Cullen let out a heavy sigh. "Alright. Time to head back." He let Harding lead the way and the others pass before him so he could make sure nobody was lagging behind. He was not losing any more men to these mountains.

His chest contracted with a pang of sorrow and pain as he took his position at the rear of the small group. This was not giving up. This was just a detour, a small break at the camp before he could head out again and continue the search. This was not over. Frostback Mountains would not claim Atheril if he had any say in it.

Cullen gave a final glance over his shoulder, trying to remember where they had been so he could choose a new section of the mountains to go through. He froze in place, fingers curling around the hilt of his sword for support. There, in the distance, was a light. A green light. The kind of otherworldly green that could only mean one thing.

"The Herald!" Cullen's shout echoed back on the mountains. He didn't bother waiting for others, breaking through the snow and slipping a few times in his haste. She had survived the avalanche. Andraste be praised, she was alive!

He was the first to reach her. Atheril had crumpled to the ground with her eyes shut, her normally warm beige skin coloured with an unpleasant blue tint, her lips chapped and pale. She looked more dead than alive. Cullen knelt next to her and pulled off his glove to touch her forehead, his fingers trembling. Maker's breath, she was freezing.

She pulled her eyes open, exhaustion evident from the tremors and sluggishness. "Cullen?" Her voice cracked. "Is it really you?" She tried to reach out a hand to touch him, probably to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. Cullen pressed her hand to his chest, a hint of a relieved smile playing in the corner of his mouth.

"It's really me. Thank Andraste, I was losing hope." He turned his head towards the scouts who were approaching. "She's alive!"

He spun back towards Atheril, only to find her trying to push herself up from the ground, limbs barely cooperating. "Let me help you."

Her pale blue eyes turned upwards, confusion drawing her eyebrows together. The expression made Cullen ache with a dull pain that had nothing to do with his physical exhaustion. Even after several months with the Inquisition, she had not learnt that she could ask for help, that she didn't have to do everything alone.

By the time the scouts reached them, Cullen had managed to pull Atheril to her feet. He wanted to sweep her up in his arms, but that would have been inappropriate. As much as he wanted to help, she was the Herald of Andraste. It would be a more powerful image to have her walk into the camp instead of being carried. Not that she was likely to have thought of that reasoning, since she still tried to avoid being called the Herald… but the reason was valid nonetheless.

She responded to the scouts' joy gracefully, thanking them for being in the search party. Her voice was raspy and dotted by hacking coughs, but nobody could hold it against her. It was a miracle she had survived.

Their way back to the camp was excruciatingly slow. Atheril leaned heavily on Cullen to keep herself upright and it was clear from her breathing that the effort was draining her last reserves. Cullen had to keep reminding himself that it was not his place to tell her how to handle the situation. Yes, he was in charge of the forces of the Inquisition, but in no way did he have a say over the personal choices of the Herald.

Of course he could argue that it wasn't entirely her personal choice, since a lot of people depended on her… but that was a slippery slope. That was mere steps away from dictating her moves, trapping her in place. Cullen shuddered.

He shot a look down at Atheril who clung to his side, strained breaths accompanying her sluggish steps. The mere thought of someone taking away her independence, forcing her to go through something she objected to… it made his head boil. They had come close to it a few times, with the council trying to figure out the best way forward without consulting the person who had to do the actual heavy lifting. The memories stabbed at him, drenching him in remorse. As much as they needed Atheril, she was not a property of the Inquisition.

It was never right to use the word "property" about a person, to limit their choices to a narrow selection that has been pre-approved by someone else. Younger Cullen may have had different ideas, lost in his head after what had happened in the Circle…

His free hand curled into a fist, memories of the torture he had endured flooding his head. He could still remember everything as if it was yesterday. But that was a long time ago and he was not the man he had been back then. That was in the past and he could not get stuck in what had once been. He needed his focus and energy for the present. Nobody else should go through what he had to endure; he would make sure of it.

He jolted to attention as Atheril's strength came to an end and she let out a soft breath as she slid towards the soft carpet of snow. With lightning reflexes, Cullen caught her before she could hit the ground. She opened her eyes as he cradled her in his arms, taking care to position her so that his metal armour wouldn't be touching her skin. "Just rest so you could walk again once we're near the camp. Preserve some of that energy."

Atheril nodded in response before letting her head tilt back with a sigh, eyes sliding shut. Maker, she looked fragile. Too small, too young to have such responsibilities. Yet she had hesitantly agreed to everything and ended up nearly sacrificing herself to save the others. Even as she needed someone to take care of her, she was still worrying about what her actions would look like and what people would think. It was an unfair burden on one person.

Cullen was reluctant to let Atheril know when they had nearly reached the camp. She needed more rest. She should be under heaps of blankets and drinking hot tea to warm up, not struggling to stay on her feet. But it was not his choice to make.

"We're almost there." He kept his voice gentle, allowing her some privacy from the scouts. To their credit, they had been very discreet. Not one of them had made a comment about her state. He'd have to make sure to personally thank them later for their service.

Atheril looked up from beneath her frost-covered lashes, weariness in her eyes. Cullen wished he could have left her to sleep. "Are you sure you wish to walk?" He gave her another chance to back out, to remain in his arms and get carried to the camp. He hoped she would take take that offer.

"I can do it." Her voice sounded like gravel, rough and raspy. Her face contorted in pain as Cullen lowered her to the ground, but she didn't make a sound. He held out his arm for her to hold on to, if needed. She hesitated for a moment, dragging her big hood lower over her head, but then closed both hands around his arm, her touch so feeble that it hurt Cullen to think about it.

They walked to the camp together like that, flanked by the scouts on both sides. It was good to see Harding on the other side of Atheril, always looking out and ready to offer support. Atheril had people she could lean on. If only she would see that herself…

Within moments, they were surrounded by a crowd. People were gaping at her, stunned that she was alive. Atheril smiled at them, even as her eyes looked strained with the effort to keep going. Her legs dragged on the ground, barely able to keep going, but still she didn't make a sound. Healers rushed to her, their assistants ready to carry her, but she refused with a small shake of her head.

Once they reached the healers' tent, Atheril thanked the scouts once more and relieved them of their duty. She kept the smile on her face until they were inside and the tent flaps had closed behind them, concealing them from the crowd. Cullen took a hold of her as she crumpled with a quiet gasp of pain; effortlessly lifting her back in his arms. Healers had set a bedroll ready for her, raised on a make-shift bench made out of some trees they had felled during the day.

"She was nearly frozen when we found her." Cullen placed her on the bedroll, taking care not to cause her any further pain. Atheril didn't say anything; she only clutched at her side, eyes squeezed shut. "I'm afraid the Herald may have overworked herself. She insisted on walking."

"We'll take it from here, Commander." A healer with more wrinkles than hair took over, nudging Cullen to make him step out of the way. Cullen nearly snarled at that, catching himself in action before the growl left his throat. Now that he didn't have to focus on making sure Atheril was alright next to him or in his arms, the maddening hum of lyrium was taking over once more, turning his train of thoughts into primal ideas that urged him to stay by her side, to protect her from harm. What that harm was, he didn't know. It was not likely that the healer was going to do anything adverse to her, not with the entire camp around them.

Cullen didn't move until someone dragged him aside by his arm, easily overpowering the weary Commander. He turned to snap at them, only to turn his verbal retort into a scowl once he recognised Cassandra.

"Let them work. There's nothing you can do now." Odd, she sounded almost gentle. Despite the roaring in his chest that demanded to stay right where he was, he let Cassandra pull him out of the tent. He stumbled over his own legs, eyes straining to concentrate, to focus on anything that was not moving around with dizzying speed.

"Are you quite alright?" Cassandra's worried frown was the last thing Cullen saw before sinking to his knees, gasping in cold air that sliced at his lungs. Judging by the burning sensation inside, the meagre meal he had devoured hours before heading out threatened to make a return. Cassandra helped him to a tree trunk that served as a seat, before ordering someone to bring him some soup. She stayed by his side as Cullen tried to overcome his dizziness. She was still there when the food arrived and remained there while he ate, her silent stoic presence helping him to keep a hold of his senses while he gulped down the hot soup, shaky hands barely holding on to the bowl.

"It's a miracle we didn't lose you both." Cassandra's voice was quiet, but with an edge to it. "Cullen, you cannot continue like this. You have to take into account that you are going through something that can kill people - that has killed people! If you keep pushing yourself like this-"

She cut her words with an irritated noise, not finishing the sentence.

Cullen looked over the gathering crowd, eyebrows drawing together. They were pretending to be busy with something, but the darting looks sent towards the tent left no questions about their real purpose there. They were crowding her. She needed peace and quiet for healing.

He noticed his hand curling around the hilt of his weapon the same time as Cassandra did. He could have sworn she hissed at him. That made no sense. He let go of the sword anyway, realising what this must have looked like. He was losing control. He was not safe to be around like this. This was not how the Commander of the Inquisition's forces should act.

He set the empty bowl aside and pushed himself up, ignoring the protests of his muscles. "I'll take a walk." Cassandra remained at her post near the opening of the tent when Cullen rushed off, sending snow flying in his hurry to get away. There was nothing he could do to help her.

The next days passed at an excruciatingly slow pace. Afraid that his short temper would make him lash out, he avoided visiting Atheril. He patrolled around the tent instead, his scowl sending lurking soldiers who had been hoping to catch a glance at the Herald scurrying back to their posts.

His self-appointed guard duty was dotted by mealtimes, giving orders to scouts, accepting notes from messengers and attending council meetings that produced more stress and shouting than results. Atheril was doing poorly and everyone's nerves were at their last ends. People clung to the hope that she would get better, that the Herald would be able to lead squads to the rifts once more and bring peace to the land. With each passing day, that hope dwindled until the faces that had shown joy at Atheril's return had turned into masks of desperation.

Cullen lost track of days; they turned into a stream of restless sleep, food without taste and conversations with no end or meaning. What was the point of all that if she might not make it? What good did expanding their camp do if everyone would succumb to demons from the Fade unless Atheril was there to stop that? How would sending messengers to nearby lords and ladies grant them anything useful if they wouldn't be around to use that?

The sundown of a particularly difficult day left Cullen feeling crushed under the weight of responsibilities and worries. Another council meeting had ended in chaos, with Cullen and Leliana coming close to pitting soldiers against spies in a fit of rage. Only Josephine's diplomatic efforts and Cassandra's glare in Cullen's direction had managed to avert the bloodshed.

They were no closer to coming up with a plan that would save the Inquisition than they had been when Atheril was found. They had lost their base of operations and too many people to count. What hope did they have? Those who had been sticking around, waiting for a miracle to happen, had grown restless. Every day, they had some people leaving, ready to test their fate on their own as the Inquisition had nothing to offer to them anymore. It was only a matter of time until the cold mountains housed only the council, stuck in a perpetual state of bickering.

Cullen sighed, burying his face in gloved hands. The growing pile of reports next to him did nothing to ease his stress. Instead of doing something useful, he was a glorified clerk, going over paperwork. What was the point of that?

He looked up just in time to see Atheril emerging from the healers' tent, her customary hood pulled in place and teeth pressed together as she grasped a tent pole for support. Cullen's breath caught in his throat at the sight of her, so small and feeble next to the giant tent. She still didn't have her normal warm glow back, but at least there was no more blue tinge to her skin anymore. She looked worried though, like anyone in their camp.

He was about to push himself up from the bench to rush to her, but forced himself to stay in place. This was no time for public displays of affection or offers of support. The people needed to see her, to gain hope from the knowledge that she was strong enough to survive even this.

Cullen let his head sink down again. Without a place to go, even Atheril's growing strength wouldn't save them. He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers digging into the hard knots of stress under his skin. A surprising sound made him raise his head. A Chantry mother was singing, the rich timbre of her voice echoing through the mountains.

The song was old. It had been sung in Thedas for centuries, gaining popularity in dark times. It spoke of lost hope, of moments of despair… and of standing strong when all odds are against you and there seems to be no future awaiting you. There was no song more fitting for their current predicament.

The camp was stirring, people halting their conversations to turn towards the singer. A hush fell over the crowd as they saw their Herald standing on her own, the green light glowing in the dusk. Cullen's eyes followed the same path until he found his gaze resting on Atheril.

Her face, so full of pain and despair just moments before, was clearing up. Her lips quivered in the beginning of a smile as Leliana's clear voice joined, sending a shudder through the crowd. More voices were added to the choir. Atheril was openly smiling now, awe making her eyes gleam in the warm glow of the campfire.

A sweet pain caught hold of Cullen's heart. His own voice, saturated with emotions, added to the song, mixing with the sounds from the rest of the camp. People started moving towards Atheril, their faces wiped of worries, a glimmer of hope where sadness had been. Atheril's smile wavered and turned into wide-eyed bewilderment as people began to kneel in front of her one by one, the wave of movement spreading over the entire camp.

…almost the entire camp. Solas was standing near Cullen, a calculating look in his eyes. Sera was not kneeling either - if anything, she seemed to be a bit repulsed or even scared by the display. Cullen allowed himself a smile as he noticed that. Sera's reaction came as no surprise to him - the elf had made her opinion on kneeling and people-worship very clear from the day she joined them. She must have been doubting her involvement with the Inquisition at that point, seeing the open admiration of the people bowing to the Herald.

Cullen approached Atheril once the rest had finally returned to their posts and she was left alone near the tent. She looked so utterly overwhelmed by everything that Cullen couldn't help but smile at the way she looked at him, like he was her saviour in a way. That was of course ridiculous, but he could at least imagine she would be thinking that.

He had a small speech prepared, telling her how glad he was to see her doing better and that she had given a lot of people hope that day. The words died in his throat as he reached her and he ended up awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck instead.

"Cullen." She smiled at him, though her eyes were still laced with uncertainty. As much as he could see of her eyes, anyway. Perhaps the hood was growing larger. Hopefully it would stop growing before Atheril was completely devoured by it.

Cullen shook his head to get away from the wandering thoughts. That was not what he had gone to say. He had to take away the hesitation that was making her hunch, the fear haunting her eyes. He could help her.

"What you did in Haven… it was brave." A solid start. "Stupid, but brave." …and not so solid anymore. Cullen cringed.

Atheril bowed her head as chuckles shook her shoulders. "That is probably the best description of what happened." She looked up, her expression slightly relaxing as the corners of her mouth curved upwards in an amused smirk. Maker's breath, her smiles were making him dizzy. Especially when they were directed at him.

"How are you feeling?" Yet again, he was failing at casual conversation. She had nearly frozen to death and spent so many days either passed out or close to it that he didn't even know how long it had been. What an insensitive thing to ask.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around her waist. "Physically? Exhausted. Mentally however…" She locked her gaze in his, her eyes widening and eyebrows sloping downward. "I'm scared, Cullen. They all seem to think I'm some sort of saviour, that me being here is the miracle they need to survive. That's a lot of pressure on one person - who happens to have no idea what she's doing, just so you know."

Warmth spread in Cullen's chest, his affection for her only growing. He placed his hands on the sides of her shoulders, gripping them gently to emphasise his words. "You don't have to be a saviour or a miracle. For those people, you are the symbol of hope. Merely seeing you standing strong after facing what should have been certain death… it helps them believe that anything can happen and that the lands and people of Thedas could survive."

He gave her shoulders another squeeze, gently massaging her stress away. "The most important thing for you is to remember the person underneath what they see. I know it's a lot to take in, so see it as a mask of sorts. For them you may be the Herald." He paused, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, trying to clear his head that was crowded by the thoughts of her. "…but I can see Atheril. And the woman I see is strong and beautiful and she can do anything she sets her mind to."

A blush spread over her cheeks and she looked to the ground, a hand pressed to her lips. When she met his gaze again, her eyes had a wet gleam to them. "Thank you, Cullen." She looked over the camp that had turned from a hushed gathering to a celebratory mood, the chatter around the fires louder than it had been for days.

"They do sound more hopeful. I've been listening to the noises of the camp while I was lying down in the tent, and everything sounded so sad and disjointed… until they all started singing today. It was beautiful." She licked her lips, a pensive look on her face as she tilted her head towards him. "Think you could teach me that song?"

"Of course." He let go of her and offered his arm instead to lean on. "Let's take a walk, my lady."

She chuckled at that. "I'm no lady, but I'll gladly accept that offer." She slid her hand on his arm and they left for a walk, the glow of affection in Cullen's heart burning stronger with every moment. His Herald was safe and with him. The rest of the problems could be tackled when that time came.