A/N: Hello lovies! Thanks again to everyone who has faved/followed/reviewed. It means so much to me and honestly keeps me churning out chapters!
For those who are interested I posted a lemony one shot a few days back featuring Cullen and Trevelyan. Its a bit weighty and long, but still filled with smutty, NSFW goodness. If you're so inclined, head to my profile and click on "Brandy and Remembrance" to read!
Also, there are more references to "Heavy are the Hearts" in this installment so here is the cliff notes version to catch you up to speed (unless you want to read it, which is awesome!):
Elissa and Alistair created an Elven guard in Denerim in an effort to ease tensions between the city elves and the humans. Torin was a member of that guard. He was also lover to Ambrose, a human palace guard and best friend to Elissa. Eamon, in an effort to discredit Elissa, believed that Ambrose and Elissa were having an affair, and presented a tourney favor she had bestowed upon her friend to Alistair as proof of her infidelity. Also, Elissa's bow was gift bestowed upon her by Alistair, the scroll work on the recurves being a family tree of sorts.
That should catch you all up!
R&R lovies! My birthday's coming up and reviews are better than cake!
Cullen, Evanthe, Elissa, and her two boys walked quickly through the hallways of Skyhold, not a word said between any of them. Even the twins were uncharacteristically quiet, having divined the seriousness of the situation from their mother's nervous yet determined countenance
"Is it Corypheus?" Evanthe asked softly, the words seeming unbearably loud to her ears.
"More than likely," came Cullen's terse reply. "We have a little time. Skyhold's benefit is that we see an army coming long before they can attack. It will give us time to prepare."
"Your Majesty," an elf called out hurrying towards the group. His was dressed in the armored livery of a Denerim guard, his arms weighed down with plate, chain mail, and the most exquisite bow Evanthe had ever laid eyes on.
"Torin!" Elissa cried in relief. She quickly reached for the pile of armor and weapons, and the elf handed off his burden in relief. Evanthe blinked in surprise as the queen began to outfit herself in the shining plate, buckling it in place with practiced ease.
"Report," Cullen ordered and Torin instantly straightened, turning to address the commander.
"Ser, an army of seventy or more is cresting the rise. Demons and Red Templars alike."
"Is Corypheus among them?" Evanthe asked, her heart in her throat. She had yet to lay eyes upon her enemy, and she did not exactly relish having to do so now. Perhaps it was cowardly of her, but she still did not feel prepared to meet the mysterious Elder One head on. She would like to delay that inevitable day for as long as possible.
"No," Torin replied, "But Erimond is among them."
"Of course he is," Cullen sneered.
"Who's Erimond?" Evanthe questioned.
"A man of little morals and great evil," Cullen replied. "It was he that was the architect of Adamant."
"Torin," Elissa interrupted, securing the last buckle of her armor. It was glorious chest piece of the brightest silver, the laurel wreaths of the Cousland heraldry framing the two roaring mabaris of the Therin's etched upon its front. A split skirt of chain mail spilled over her hips, laying heavily upon the burgundy damask of her gown "Take the children to Zevran. He can move them below ground and keep them safe until this is over."
"Master Aranai would prefer to be at your side. He will not like it, Your Majesty," Torin hedged.
"No, I image he won't" she replied flippantly before tying a fraying lavender ribbon around her wrist, securing the knot with her teeth. "Pity for him you take your orders from me."
"Of course, Your Majesty," the elf replied with the barest hint of a smile. Elissa nodded and dropped to her knees beside her boys, a comforting hand placed upon their cheeks.
"Be brave, my darlings. And do as your Uncle Zevran tells you."
"Will you be alright, Mother?" Lucas asked, the slightest waver in his voice. To hear the fear in the young child's words nearly broke Evanthe's heart. Elissa had been right; no five year old should ever have to live though this, much less the prospect of losing their mother.
"Of course I will," Elissa replied with kind eyes, understanding that her children needed to hear the lie. "I love you both. Be safe, and look after one another." She bestowed a quick kiss upon both of their brows before rising in one graceful motion and turning to regard Torin once more. A trembling smile painted her lips and she pulled him close, kissing the man upon the cheek.
"Come back to me, my friend. And if you cannot..." The queen's voice cracked, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "Give my love to Ambrose." Torin bowed, a sad smile of remembrance edging his lips. Evanthe may not have been able to follow their words, lost as she was to the players involved, but she could tell that the pair held great deal of fondness for one another. They shared a bond made up of loved ones lost and the memory of better times. It would hurt the other greatly if both did not survive the approaching battle, and Evanthe silently vowed to make sure the pair both saw the next sunrise.
Torin gathered up the children and hastily led them away, offering reassurances and soothing bits of nonsense as he did so. Once they were out of ear shot, Elissa closed her eyes, hands tightly gripping the bow Torin had procured for her. It was exquisite in make, polished dragon bone carved to smooth perfection. Trailing, detailed scroll work covered every inch, and Evanthe swore she could make out names carved amongst the loops and swirls.
"I am yours, Commander," Elissa said at last, turning her back upon her children.
"All due respect, Your Majesty, you are not," Cullen replied firmly.
"You will find I am quite adequate in my skills, Ser Cullen" the queen countered tightly.
"Skilled or not I will not risk you in this. You are Ferelden's Queen-
"And I am not the first of such to fight for her country upon a blood-soaked battlefield," Elissa snapped. "Nor will I be the last. My kingdom is stolen, Commander, and I will fight to reclaim it with my very last breath. My husband's grandmother died trying to pry Ferelden from Orlesian hands, and if I must do the same, then I shall go to my death with a righteous heart. Do not stymie me in this."
"Cullen," Evanthe murmured with a hand upon his arm, "Let her go." Evanthe had a sneaking suspicion that even if the Commander barred her in this, Elissa would manage to find herself in the fray regardless. The Queen was too head strong and passionate not to, and Evanthe admired her all the more for it, even as she ached at the prospect of the two young princes losing their mother.
"On the ramparts," Cullen said at last, acquiescing with a reluctant heart. "You shall have the archers, my lady. I trust you know how best to command them?"
"I've known since I was fourteen, Commander," the Queen replied, walking away with her head held high and a regal bearing to spine. "This is what I was raised to do." Evanthe stared after her, praying to any god that would listen for her safe return.
"I want you with her," Cullen ordered, following after a time. "The mages as well. Our soldiers will need all the support they can get. You can command them from the ramparts."
"You're putting me out of harms way?" Evanthe cried angrily, rushing to catch up with him.
"Harms way has become relative as of late," Cullen argued, "but yes, in this I am. If Elissa's safety is paramount, than yours is doubly so."
"Absolutely not," she insisted. "I am not some breakable trinket you can place high upon a shelf, Cullen. I can be of value to you. I should be on the field-"
"No," he countered angrily, rounding on her so fast that she nearly ran into his chest. "We only just got you back, and I will not risk losing you again. You are the Herald of Andraste, the symbol of what the Inquisition stands for, and you are too important to be struck down, or worse yet, captured."
"I know how to take care of myself, Cullen," she argued through clenched teeth.
"Of that I have little doubt. But a week spent training with a blade does make you a warrior. You'd be slaughtered on the field. You belong on the ramparts with the others, suppressing their attack and offering cover fire should we need to retreat." He was right, of course, and she knew it. The sting of it lingered, however, as she fought against the urge to continue arguing. Evanthe did not like to be coddled, it made her feel useless, and she wondered just how much of a help she'd truly be stuck high on Skyhold's walls. More over, she did not wish an unobstructed view from which to watch her troops fall.
"Very well," she accepted with reluctance. Cullen nodded tightly before spinning on his heel and taking his leave. Evanthe watched him go for a moment, wondering what part he was to play in this madness. He did not seem the sort of commander to lead from the rear, safely perched upon a horse and barking out orders. No, Cullen would lead his men from within their midst, battling shoulder to shoulder with them against the encroaching army. He would not ask of his soldiers what he himself was not willing to give, Evanthe was sure of it, and as such she had a fleeting moment of panic, wondering if this was to be the last she ever saw of him.
"Cullen!" she cried out, racing to intercept him before he disappeared into the outside world. He turned upon hearing his name, clearly expecting another argument from her. When she simply stared up at him with worried eyes, mouth open but unable to speak, his features softened and he placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder.
"Just...come back," she said at last, the words sounding completely inadequate when compared to what she was feeling. Cullen nodded and tried to smile, though the effect was less than comforting. For a moment it seemed as if he hovered on the precipice of saying something, a confession on a grand scale, and Evanthe held her breath. Words seemed to fail him, however, and he settled for simply placing his hand upon her cheek, crossing a line they both had been reluctantly flirting with for days now. Had it been under any other circumstances Evanthe would have pulled away, mumbling excuses and trying to cover her reaction. But there seemed to be a immediacy about the moment, a finality that could very easily come to pass. Should they both survive there would be time to agonize over the gesture later, but right now, in that moment, Evanthe simply leaned into her commander's touch and swallowed hard around the lump in her throat.
"I must go," Cullen whispered, tearing himself away from her. Evanthe nodded and accompanied him outside into the carefully choreographed chaos of the courtyard. They parted ways instantly, turning their backs on one another as they set off to do what was demanded of them, but Evanthe could not stop herself from glancing over her shoulder one last time at her commander. And it did not surprise her in the least to discover that he had done the same.
~oOo~
The ramparts were packed tight with archers, mages, and crude pitch traps rigged to ropes and pulleys. It was almost suffocating to have so many bodies pressed close, and Evanthe pushed her way slowly throng, trying to find the best place from which to lead her charges. The mages would be hers to command, and she surveyed the Skyhold's crumbling walls with a critical eyes. There was very little cover afforded them, most of the fortresses crenelations having fallen long ago, but someone had stacked bags of grain in key places, affording them some small bit of protection. Evanthe spied Solas standing near one such pile and she began to slowly make her way to his side, surprised that he had been trusted enough to be a part of this.
"So we are to play at war," he murmured as she joined him, staring out at the horizon and the approaching army. Evanthe followed his gaze and felt her chest constrict when she spotted the force that made its way steadily towards Skyhold's walls. Templars covered in bits of red lyrium, their augmentations casting an unholy crimson glow upon the ground, marched in orderly formations, swords and shields clenched tight and at the ready. In contrast demons swirled chaotically amongst their ranks, screeching and spitting all the while. It was an intimidating sight, and at the center of it stood a mage, his face arrogant and proud. This had to be Erimond, Evanthe would bet her life on it. She hated the man on sight, thinking he had the look of someone who liked to make others suffer, if only for his own greedy gain. He needed to be put down, for the good of all, and Evanthe coldly hope she would be the one to do it.
"I don't think there will be much playing to it at all," Evanthe murmured quietly, already mourning the losses she knew was coming. "Seems to be quite real."
"These walls have stood against countless armies through the centuries," Solas offered, as if divining her thoughts. "The inhabitants have faced many a mighty foe and emerged victorious, I have seen it in the fade. There is a power in these stones. You are in good company, da'vhenan. Skyhold will not fall."
"Skyhold might not, but the Inquisition very well may. And of that esteemed company I doubt a one of those past armies ever had to face the likes of Corypheus," she offered, eyes scanning over her troops on the ground. They were lined up neatly in rows, banners and weapons held proudly in their hands. Cullen walked among them, encouraging and ordering about his men with practiced ease. The eyes of every soldier stayed locked on their commander, and Evanthe could see they would follow him into the black city itself if he demanded it of them. When Cullen had at last finished his speech he strode to the middle of his troops, placing himself on the front lines and staring out with determined eyes at the enemy that was marching ever closer. Evanthe took a sharp breath and fought the urge to scream down at him to move farther back. He would be vulnerable in such a position, the most likely to take damage in the initial onslaught. She hated that he was there.
"You worry for the commander's safety," Solas said coldly from her side, breaking her from her thoughts.
"I worry for everyone's safety," she replied automatically.
"Yes, but it is he whom your eyes seek without volition."
"Does that bother you?" she asked hotly as she turned to face him, noting the faint stirrings of bitterness in his voice.
"It is merely that one has to wonder, if things were different, would you look upon me in such a fashion?" Solas replied honestly as he faced her, not even bothering to keep his emotions hidden.
"Yes, well, things aren't different, Solas," Evanthe replied turning to leave.
"Then it would not bother you were I to perish?" he called after her, stopping her in her tracks. The thought hit her like herd of halla running straight through her gut. To imagine Solas, bloodied and lifeless, upon the stone ramparts destroyed something in her, loathe as she was to admit it. If he were to die this day she would mourn him, deeply and utterly, to the void with what his crimes were.
"I..." she stammered out, unable to form a response that wouldn't outright give her feelings away.
"Your silence speaks plainly enough," she heard him reply quietly, though satisfaction echoed through his words. It was enough to knock her back to anger and she rounded on him with a scowl upon her face.
"I'm not heartless, Solas, but thanks ever so for painting me as such."
"You must forgive me sometime, da'vhenan," he countered, managing to hit up the true nature of their conversation in one swift blow.
"I rather think I don't."
"This war will ask much of you, Evanthe," he pressed, stalking towards her. "Things you are, perhaps, unwilling to give. Not just this battle, but the ones that come after. There will be blood upon the ground and you will lose a great many men. You will be asked to weigh the measure of one man's life against another and nightmares will become more than shadows creeping on your bed at dark. And through it all you will be forced to face a part of you you had never thought to exist. Such is the nature of this brave new world. When stacked against all that, is forgiveness really beyond your reach?" He was close to her now, staring down at her with demanding eyes. The wall that had been erected between them, a careful barrier that kept the past and memories so clear they were practically tangible from clawing too close, had crumbled in that moment, and it was simply the two of them; raw and exposed.
"For the man who is responsible for all of it?" she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from his, "Yes...it is." It was a lie she needed to tell, if only for self preservation's sake. But it hurt her, nearly as much as it hurt him. She could see it in his eyes, the defeat. Her forgiveness meant more to him than his calculating speech had let on, and it pained her that she was unable to give it to him.
"I'm giving you a battalion of mages to command," she stated, stepping back from him and everything he represented. "I want you to focus on support: barriers, wards, glyphs, ice walls. Keep my soldiers alive. Me and mine will focus on offense."
"You would trust me with this?" Solas asked, taken aback by the notion.
"I trust you to see to your own interests, Solas," she replied. "You want forgiveness? Such a thing must be earned." She turned to leave but was halted by his hand sliding along her waist, demanding her attention.
"Be safe, da'vhenan," he murmured, the words so honest it hurt to hear.
"You as well," she whispered in reply, unable to not return the sentiment. She fair fled after, hurrying along the battlements, gathering mages to her as a honey would flies and barking out commands. When she had at last given all her orders she sought out Elissa, finding her near the center of the ramparts and adjusting the string on her bow.
"Are you ready, Your Majesty?" she asked as she gripped her staff tight.
"Who is ever ready for any of this?" Elissa replied, staring down at the field. Evanthe followed the woman's gaze and found Torin amid the ranks of soldiers patiently waiting on Cullen's word. He was stationed a fair ways back, a pair of daggers cradled loosely in his hands.
"You and Torin seem close," Evanthe commented lightly, wondering what the connection between a city born elf and the Queen of Ferelden could possibly be.
"He is the last of my elven guard," Elissa replied with a sad smile. "A relic of a life lived long before this one."
"Who is Ambrose?" Evanthe wondered, unable to bide her curiosity any longer.
"My dearest friend and Torin's lover. Cut down in Denerim when Corypheus marched upon the city." Elissa's delicate fingers played along the lavender ribbon tied upon her wrist as she answered and Evanthe could not help but glance at it. Elissa caught her staring and smiled, holding her arm up to offer a better view. "I favored him with this at a tourney once. Caused quite the scandal amongst the nobility and incited my husband's jealousy something fierce. Ambrose merely..." The queen's voice cracked, and a tear slid slowly down her cheek, falling upon her armor without a sound. "I miss him everyday." Before Evanthe could offer her sympathies, Leliana interrupted the pair, her own long bow slung high across her back.
"Herald," the bard intoned grimly. "They come." Evanthe nodded tightly and turned to face the field, her staff held at the ready.
It was time to do battle.
~oOo~
The tide was turning and not for the better. The Inquisition had put up a better fight than Evanthe had anticipated. What they lacked in numbers they more than made up for in training, command, and sheer dumb luck. Demons, for all that they are fiercesome, do not relish being held by a leash, and as such Erimond and his few mages had to constantly correct their behavior, reigning their demonic force back in and wasting precious seconds. Cullen and his men took advantage of this almost instantly, pressing their attack and slaughtering the loathsome creatures when they were forced to bend to the will of their masters. The Red Templars were a different matter; men trained to do battle and bolstered by the tainted mineral in their veins. They fought ruthlessly and almost without pause, never stopping until they were cut down. Iron Bull had been the Inquisition's one advantage in this, his crimson cloaked presence enough to make the templars hesitate, a deadly mistake that resulted in many of their deaths.
While Cullen commanded their ground troops, Solas, Evanthe, Leliana and Elissa command those that had taken to the sky; raining fire and arrows down upon their foes with a fury the Dalish elf had never before seen. Elissa, true to her boasting, was an extremely accomplished archer, and not a few of the slain were dead by her hand. Solas had followed Evanthe's command to the letter, offering barriers and defensive magic to those on the ground who needed them. Meanwhile, Evanthe led the mages under her command with a single minded focus, leveling blast after blast of power at those that skirted too close to Skyhold's walls.
It was a valiant effort, but it wasn't enough. Evanthe could see that plain as day. For every templar or demon cut down, two of Evanthe's troops fell. The math was slowly turning against them, and Evanthe struggled against the panic that fluttered at her breast.
It was well into the second hour of the battle that things began to go devastatingly wrong. One moment Evanthe was barking out orders, raining fire upon a group of pride demons, the next she heard Elissa's shrill, piercing scream shatter through the air. Whirling about she watched as the queen fell back, an arrow imbedded deep in her shoulder, the shaft sticking out from between a gap in her armor.
"I am alright," Elissa grit out as those around her swarmed to help. "Leave me be."
"Get her to the infirmary," Evanthe snapped at a nearby archer, tone brooking no refusal. When the man made to lift her upright Elissa hissed in warning and pinned him with a glare.
"Absolutely not," the queen countered. "I'm fine."
"What you are is useless," Evanthe argued, lifting the other woman's arm harshly. The scream that accompanied the action proved her point and she glared pointedly at the queen. "There is no way you can set an arrow, Your Majesty. Your time upon the field is done." Elissa clearly was not happy with the situation, but she bowed her head in acceptance and relaxed against the stones, waiting patiently for help. Evanthe motioned to the archer once more and together the two lifted the queen upright, trying to be as gentle as possible. When at last the woman was on her feet and being led carefully away, Evanthe turned her attention once more to the carnage that lay below, and felt the world come grinding to a halt.
She would never know if fate had timed it so that she would bear witness to his fall, but it seemed almost too perfect in its synchronicity to not be so. As she turned, her eyes fell upon Cullen, his shield held high against a vicious downswing from a red templar. The shock from the blow had him reeling back, guard left open, and his enemy thrust hard, shoving a serrated longsword deep into her commander's gut. Evanthe screamed as it happened, watching in horror as Cullen fell to his knees. She was moving before she could even think, aiming a massive bolt of lightening at the templar and knocking him far away from the injured man. Her feet pounded over the battlements, hands shoving at anyone that got in her way. Elissa was among them and the queen let out a startled gasp, demanding to know what had happened. Evanthe did not have time for her questions, she simply leapt to the edge of the ramparts, and reached out, grasping at the slackened chains of Skyhold's long defunct drawbridge. She jumped with out pause, the flesh of her hands instantly shredding as she slid down the rusted length of iron. Above her she could hear shouts of panic, Solas' voice loudest among them all. None of it touched her, she simply fell, ignoring the pain and the and outrage as she fought to control her descent. She hit the ground hard, rolling with the impact, and immediately shot to her feet, running with precise strides towards her injured commander.
"Damnit!" she distantly heard Elissa cried out. "All of you! Protect the herald, give her cover!" The order was followed immediately, and Evanthe could feel barriers and wards fall in to place around her, a hail of arrows began to clear her path. She followed gratefully, eyes glued to Cullen, and sprinted across the blood splattered snow. When at last she reached him, she fell to her knees, hands already reaching out to press against his wound.
"What on the Maker's green earth are you doing?" He demanded once the shock of seeing her on the field had worn off. "Get back on the battlements!"
"Be still" she sobbed, hands fumbling at his armor as she sought to give him some semblance of care.
"Evanthe, you must get back," he pleaded, hands futilely trying to push her away. Evanthe shook her head, tears blurring her vision and she continued to press, fingers now slick and sticky with his blood.
"Evanthe, listen to me. You must...Evanthe!" Her name was shouted as a warning, and she turned on instinct, a hand thrown up uselessly in defense. Time seemed to slow to an unbearable crawl as she watched the demon barrel towards her, clawed hands outstretched to rend at her flesh. Evanthe had nothing; not a weapon, not a hope, not anything of use beyond her power, and she doubted it would be enough. Closing her eyes she said a silent goodbye to those that had loved her, and let her power free. It was different than triggering a spell, that was always a controlled spiral down into the well of her magic, a steady draw upon what lay in wait. This was different, it was as if she let open the flood gates and every last bit of what made her a mage filled her up, expanding and demanding release. She could feel it shoot down her arm and leave her in a burst of power that left her numb all over.
It was then, that the world seemed to explode.
A chorus of a screams rose up from the field, sounding like a symphony of the damned. It was haunting, it was beautiful, and it was suffering on a massive scale. Evanthe eyes wrenched open and she gasped upon seeing the cause of such a terrifying sound. All around her demons and templars fell to their knees, backs arched back in painful angles, pulsing green auras enveloping and pinning them in place. One by one they fell, each collapsing upon the ground in lifeless heaps, until, at last, it was just her and Cullen left alive in the center of it all. The silence that followed was deafening, and for a moment Evanthe wondered if she had lost her ability to hear.
"Retreat!" she heard shouted out, followed by the great cacophony of an army scrambling to get away. Cries of triumph rose from behind her, a victorious outburst that echoed off the stones of Skyhold's battle scared walls. Evanthe turned a wide eyed gaze to Cullen, as if he would perhaps have answers to the thousand questions that now battered about her skull. He simply gave her the barest hint of a smile, eyes glassy and unfocused.
"We won," he breathed, before collapsing against the snow, and Evanthe once more forgot about everything but the man dying right before her eyes.
"Help!" she screamed, tears falling anew as she tended to Cullen's wound once more. She could feel him slipping away from her with every shallow breath that passed, and when help at last arrived, she wasn't certain it was anywhere close to being in time.