IMPORTANT NOTE:

This is the new Chapter 4. The old one is no longer part of this fanfic. This chapter is meant to follow directly after Chapter 3, Part 2- Cullen II.

IV. Cullen

The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil

And grew jealous of the life

They could not feel, could not touch.

In blackest envy were the demons born.

Wave after wave of demons break themselves against the soldiers' wall of blades. The troops are fighting well, but a full day of battles is taking its toll on them; their strength is beginning to wane. We cannot take much more of this. Cullen ducks beneath the swipe of a demon's claws to bury his sword to the hilt in its abdomen. If the prisoner doesn't succeed soon…

A staggering pulse of magic crushes Cullen, driving him to his knees. Panic strikes him as he fights against his locked knees and struggles for breath. Nononono. Can't fall over on a battlefield! That's just asking for the demons to take a chunk out of me. He lets out a frustrated cry as he strives to make it to his feet. He curses himself as his feet threaten to give out from under him and his head swims in magic. If I had kept up with my templar training this wouldn't be happening, the magic wouldn't overwhelm me. If I had more lyrium… A second pulse ripples through the cold air, just as strong as before. Magic crashes over him, crushing the very breath from his lungs. It pours down his throat and fills his pores, crackling with a fierce energy. The magic sings within him, the sky weeps above them.

The demons begin to scream in harmony with the Breach, howling with unholy rage and hunger as the Fade reaches out to them, pulling them back into its embrace. Their unnatural forms twist and warp, some disintegrating as their essence gets pulled back across the Veil. The stronger of the monsters retain their grip on the mortal world. They lash out in rage and fear, desperate to avoid the inevitable beckoning of the Fade.

The eerie song of the Breach swells to a crescendo. Cullen barely retains his grip on his swords as his palms itch to cover his ears in the vain hope of blocking out the overwhelming noise.

The moment shatters with a thunderous crack and a blinding light. An explosion from somewhere within the temple shakes the earth, the shock wave knocking Cullen flat on his face. A dull ache spreads from where his forehead struck the ground, sharp chunks of gravel bite into his cheek. His ears ringing, eyes blind and head swimming, he struggles to recover the breath knocked from him. That was either a really good sign, or a really bad one. He scrambles to his feet, blinking rapidly, trying to clear his sight of bright patches and swarming black dots. Now to find out which.

The echoes of the Breach bleed away, leaving a heavy silence behind. Cullen looks to the sky where the Breach remains. Disappointment wells up within him, heavy in his gut and bitter on the side of his tongue.

"Commander!" His lieutenant calls out as she picks herself up. "What's happened?"

Now that's a good question. The demons are gone, and the strange song of the Breach is muted, its light dimmed. He reaches out with his templar-honed senses towards the Breach. The Veil is stretched thin, practically bursting with the weight of the Fade pressing up against it. But the Veil is there, the hole patched. We did it. The mage did it. The words rattle about the inside of his skull, all other thoughts stunned into silence. The Breach is sealed. For now, at least. I doubt it will last. "The hole in the Veil is gone! We've done it!"

Silence hangs over the shattered courtyard as his soldiers scramble to their feet, processing his declaration. A few muted murmurs race around the group, before evolving into excited speaking. A single victorious shout catches others in its tide, and together they swell, breaking into a fervent cheer. Their pride shakes the cobblestones. Cullen does not join in their celebration; the others haven't emerged from the temple yet.

Cullen runs for the temple, gravel slipping beneath his boots. "Seeker Pentaghast?" Cullen's voice echoes in the emptiness as he stumbles down the corridor. The only response to his calls is the pulse and whine of red lyrium. "Cassandra? Leliana? Varric?" The silence is suffocating, "Varenya?"

He emerges from the corridor and into the temple proper. Bodies lay in the hall, scattered and bleeding, the smell of charred flesh choking the air. Cullen raises a shaking hand to cover his nose and mouth as he scans the bodies, until he sees a familiar suit of armor.

"Cassandra!" He scrambles down the ruined slope from the corridor to the courtyard, a small avalanche of pebbles coming loose from his clumsy steps. The Seeker lays face-down against the soot-stained stone, unmoving. Cullen turns her over on to her back, praying and cursing all at once, hoping she yet lives. The woman coughs and winces, grabbing at her ribs as she drags herself into a sitting position.

"...Age," Cassandra manages to rasp out, squinting at Cullen.

"What?"

"Where is the mage?"

Cullen whips around, scanning the hall for their allies. The once prone forms littering the courtyard begin to stir. A great many begin to pick themselves up, groaning and grabbing at their heads or chests. An equal number remain still, smoke still curling off their bodies or bloodstains still blossoming around them. Cullen allows himself a sigh of relief when he catches a glimpse of familiar red hair standing and hears a familiar dwarven voice rattling off a barrage of curses.

He finally spots a head of white-gold hair and a slight body slumped over crumpled knees. All of the raging voices within, both of relief and of fear, go silent as he stares at the unmoving body, still as a corpse. No. She can't be dead already. No blood pools beneath her, no char marks betray strikes of lightning. She's not dead. Can't be dead. Cullen approaches the limp form, his chest aching with held breath. The Breach isn't gone yet. We still need her; she can't be dead.

With trembling fingers Cullen grips the mage's shoulder. Her head lolls lifelessly to the side. The balance of the body disrupted, she begins to fall over. He roughly catches the body against cold gauntlets, and yet the mage doesn't stir.

Dead. No. Can't be. Dead. Dead. Dead. His breath comes shorter, the sides of his neck aching with a held-back cry. After all that trouble, all the blood and all the dying, we've failed. Again and again, we've failed. This is the end. Their one hope for truly closing the Breach lies empty in his arms. It's only a matter of time before that thing opens again. The immensity of the moment rises above him, the depth of their failure threatening to drown him. His stomach churns and his throat burns as he feels the need to retch. He wrestles against the heaving in his gut as a small voice of rationality fights to make itself heard. No. I can't stop now. There are wounded. We need a new plan. There is no time to come undone. The world is ending all over again and they will need every last second they can get in order to prepare. He hunches over the still body and closes his eyes, teeth grit, and wills himself to emptiness.

The brush of something vibrant against the edges of his senses sends prickles dancing down his spine. Surprise jolts him from his reverie. What was that? He holds his breath, waiting, but the sensation doesn't come again. Bitterly he sinks back to despair, again throwing all thought away. The pulse comes again, reverberating through his blood and breath. Again! I know I did not imagine it. He concentrates on stilling his center and spreading his senses outwards, straining to find that sensation again. It comes again, the faintest pulse of magic, from within his arms.

If she's dead there can't be magic… But there is… Cullen tears at his gauntlet's buckles with both teeth and clumsy fingers. He tosses the armor over his shoulder with a heedless clatter, tears the leather glove beneath off his hand with as little care. He lays trembling fingers against the hollow where the mage's jaw meets her neck and leans so his cheek is in front of the mage's open lips. Come on, come on, come on… The whisper of a heartbeat finds his seeking fingertips, and a weak puff of breath drifts across his cheek. Everything within him goes still, silent, until the second one confirms the impossible.

"Alive," he whispers, as if to assure himself that this moment is real, to prove that it won't shatter into delirium. "The mage is alive!" he manages to yell. Whispers instantaneously burst into being from the soldiers. They proclaim her a miracle. Cullen is inclined to agree.

Leliana crouches across from Cullen, blocking mage from awestruck stares. She checks the mage's heartbeat, lays the back of her hand against the other woman's brow. "She is alive, but maybe not for long. We must get her to Haven immediately."

Cullen hesitates as his gaze falls on fallen bodies. They died or are dying on my orders. I should be here, with them. I owe them at least that much. But the magic in his arms is unique, and its bearer can still be saved. Protecting the Mark and the woman who comes with it matters more than saving even a hundred wounded soldiers, no matter how heartless it sounds. Once the mage is safe there will be time to mourn the soldiers.

He slides one arm beneath the elven woman's folded knees, the other behind her back and stands, barking orders as he does so. "You, there," he nods at a man in messenger's armor who seems to be largely uninjured. "We need a horse. Run, find us one and return with it immediately. We will begin walking towards Haven along the main road, you'll find us there. You," he orders another scout. "You will run to Haven. Tell them we need healers. Have at least one remain there for the mage. The rest are to come here, immediately. The rest of you, begin moving those who can be moved to the forward camp. Save those who you can."

Leliana lays a hand on Cullen's shoulder, drawing his attention. "We should avoid exposing the prisoner to new people. We can't be certain of their reactions." Her voice is almost inaudible, her eyes cast over the scurrying troops with ill-concealed suspicion.

Her suspicion puts him on edge. "What do you suppose we do then? Hide her in a cave and pray?" Cullen hisses back.

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous." Her hand moves to between his shoulders and pushes, guiding him towards the temple exit. "Adan, the apothecary, already knows about her. He treated her while she was in the cells, and he'll treat her now."

A handful of protests wait on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them down. He just hopes Leliana's confidence isn't misplaced.

"I'm not a healer! I really don't know what you expect me to do!" The alchemist crosses his arms and scowls at Cassandra. She scowls right back.

"I expect you to do something beyond yelling at us!"

"I've already told you people, I'm an alchemist…"

Cassandra interrupts Adan with a hand wave and a growl. "Who knows more about healing than any of us do. Now, take a look at her!"

Adan sneers back at the Seeker, and for a moment Cullen almost thinks he's going to refuse. The defiant expression drops off his face when Cassandra brushes her fingertips against the pommel of her sword and narrows her eyes to slits. "Fine! But I'm warning you now, I don't do miracles." The man turns his back on them and begins rifling through the rather extensive collection of bottles he brought with him. "Now, Seeker, if you're done glaring at me I could use your help getting the patient out of her jacket. I need to check for wounds."

Cullen steps into the hall of the hut to give the alchemist room and studies the wood grain of the wall to give the mage privacy. Cassandra and Adan half-heartedly curse at one another as they work together, Adan examining the mage and Cassandra fetching things from his bag. Cullen's thoughts grow fuzzy and begin to drift, settling on their wounded and their fallen. A band squeezes his heart and his breath goes short. The edges of his vision darkens as his thoughts chase one another round and round. How many are wounded? I should be there, helping. How many dead? Have relief efforts been organized? I should be there, I should be there, I should be there.

The door swings open, letting in a blast of twilight-chilled air as well as visitors. The sight of the red-headed spymaster is a welcome one. The sight of the red-faced man at her heels is not. Nor is his whining. "You have no authority to issue orders to Chantry forces. Until representatives are sent from Val Royeaux they are under the command of the…"

Leliana simply rolls her eyes and ignores the ranting man behind her. "Cullen, Cassandra. Adan. How is she?"

The apothecary doesn't bother looking away from his patient. "As far as I can tell, she's in excellent health, other than being unresponsive and some impressive bruising coming in on her torso."

Leliana mutters something flowing and syballint in Orlesian. Cullen is moderately certain it's a curse. "She's still unresponsive?"

"What? What's all this?!" Chancellor Roderick loudly demands, trying to shove past the spymaster. He is unsuccessful.

Adan turns around. A vein in his temple throbs at the Chancellor's interruption. "You said she's a mage? It could be mana-exhaustion. She may have drained her reserves. If so, she won't wake until they're recovered." He collapses into a waiting chair beside the window and the bed.

Roderick's eyes bulge as he catches sight of the unconscious figure on the bed. His mouth gapes like that of a fish as the red that had previously been confined to his ears and nose begins to overtake the rest of his face. We should have known better than to let him in here. "This is insane! You're keeping the murderer here? She should face justice for the Conclave!" Adan drops his head into his hands as the Chancellor's voice raises.

"And she will, if she actually killed the Divine." Cassandra comes to stand at Leliana's side, forming quite the intimidating wall in front of the Chancellor. Her voice is just a shade quieter than the man's.

"You can't actually believe the elf is innocent!" The alchemist's hands begin to shake, the veins standing out starkly.

"Apparently, Chancellor, I can."

The apothecary has had enough. He surges to his feet, glaring daggers at Roderick, Cassandra and Leliana all. "Alright, that's enough. If you can't be quiet then leave." Adan points a commanding finger at the door, fearless even in the face of Leliana's narrowing eyes. Cullen can't deny being impressed. "Your yelling isn't going to make her heal any faster."

Leliana's lip twist to the side, brows pulled low, but she eventually nods instead of turning her ire on the man. "Of course. Come now, Roderick. We'll continue this in the Chantry." Leliana turns on her heel and strides out of the hut, Roderick spitting protests at her back as he follows. Cassandra simply rolls her eyes and strolls out, letting the door slam shut behind her.

Adan turns back to working on the mage. Cullen hovers awkwardly in the doorway. He should follow Leliana, help her run damage control with the chancellor. Or he should track down Cassandra and help her organize the troops in the aftermath of the Breach being closed. He should get out of Adan's way. But the moment he steps outside of this hut a thousand pair of eyes will look to him, a thousand mouth will ask for explanations. A thousand lives will once again be put in his hands, and all he wants to do is not deal with that.

"Either get out or stop staring and help me," Adan snaps out in his terse way. Cullen casts one last look at the door, It's not as if I'll be here much longer. I'll be back at work soon enough, and jumps to do the apothecary's bidding.

Dawn finds Cullen keeping vigil at the mage's bedside. He tried to leave many times in the night. At least half a dozen times he forced himself out of his rickety chair and made it to the door before turning around and throwing himself back into the chair. I'm a coward. It isn't selflessness that keeps him here. He has no great concern for the mage, he does not fear for her life. He has no reason to sit by her sleeping side. His vigil is not for her, but rather serves as an excuse for himself. He is hiding. Such a giant bleeding coward.

The inside of the hut is warm, a fire blazing merrily in the brazier. The scent of apples lingers from the drink an elven servant had brought him, mixing with the astringent scent of elfroot from the poultice smeared on the mage's bruised ribs. The smell is not unlike that of the templar training barracks he spent his teenage years in. It's a comfortable scent, a safe scent. If Cullen closes his eyes he can pretend he's back there, one out of dozens of faceless recruits. Back where making a mistake meant a week scrubbing pots in the kitchens, instead of dozens of empty deaths.

Within the hut, Cullen can lie to himself. He can pretend he's just one soldier out of an army. He can tell himself he's unimportant, and his choices mean little to nothing. The moment he steps outside, the fantasy ends. He will have to return to being Commander, and assume all the responsibility the title implies. Deaths upon deaths, each and every one a consequence of his miserable leadership.

He did not leave the hut in the night. He did not sleep. Instead he has spent the night staring out the window, watching the stars slowly fade as the new day approaches. He watches even as the first beams of sunlight cut through the coiled clouds surrounding the Breach and paints them with shades of gold. The dawn's light refracts within the green nexus, throwing fractured rainbows against the clouds. The magnificence of it sickens him.

The Sisters say the Maker's hand is evident in a sunrise. "Gaze upon the vibrant colors, feel the dawning warmth. Does your heart not sing with its majesty?" Cullen has spent countless mornings watching the sun rise. He has sung the Chant to welcome the beginning of the day. In every sunrise he has known the glory of the Maker in the gentle warmth of the dawn, his heart soaring with the profound purity of it all.

He feels no such warmth now. His heart lies still within his chest.

Author's Note:

As always, thank you for reading, reviewing, favoriting and following! I always appreciate feedback.

First off, about the old chapter 4: I really didn't like the way it turned out. It felt sloppy, and as if I had written myself into an awkward spot. So I've decided to do away with it. I'm leaving it up for a little bit, in case people want to read it, but when the next chapter goes up it will be deleted.

About this chapter: I'm so sorry it took forever to get done! I spent 2 weeks trying to make a follow up chapter to the old chapter 4 work, and just couldn't get there. I decided I wanted to explore what was happening elsewhere while Varenya was closing the Breach, so this came about. Initially it was supposed to just be a snippet out of a larger chapter, but once I started writing this bit it kept growing and growing until it was better off as its own minor chapter. I would have trimmed it down to fit in with the next chapter, but it's been so long since I've updated that I wanted to get something out.

Lore issues: I've expanded templar abilities a bit for this fanfic. The full extent of what they can do is never stated; but we do know they can inhibit the use of magic and "cleanse" areas of it. Thus, it would make sense that they can sense magic and its use as well, otherwise, how would they know to use smite?

A small thing: In DA:I it's said that Adan is the closest thing they have to a healer in Haven. That seems pretty ridiculous for a place where an army is stationed. Even if they didn't have mages, they should have had doctors. It's such a small detail, but it's always bothered me a whole bunch. What kind of idiots have an army without medical help? Seriously…

Next chapter: may be another Cullen POV. It will likely be the second half I had planned for this chapter.