A/N: Because I never played that type of Hawke, I didn't know that one of Varric's possible nicknames for him/her is 'Killer'. Varric using it for Killeen is not supposed to imply any connection or resemblance between her and the Champion.
Killeen waded through the knee-deep snow.
The path they were on might have been quite a pleasant hike, on a summer's day.
In a blizzard, though …
She paused, looking around through the veils of blowing snow, counting the heads of the little group of civilians she was responsible for. Cullen had called the soldiers and scouts aside at the beginning of the trek, given them each the task of shepherding some of the townspeople. They're not in shape for this, he'd said. Keep them on their feet, keep them moving, don't let anyone fall behind.
We're not losing anyone else.
That had been moments after he'd given the order that sent the scout's flaming arrow arcing high into the sky, moments after a wall of snow and ice and rocks had buried Haven and with it, the Herald, and yet apart from a certain roughness in his voice, Cullen had given no sign of what he had to be feeling, just turned his attention to the next job his responsibility set him.
And they had set out.
It would have been impossible without the mages. Firespells melted the snow ahead, leaving them trudging over steaming mud, difficult footing but not as bad as the deepening snow. Staffs held high cast more light than sputtering torches. Spells of warmth and protection wrapped the weakest.
But even mages had limits, and now they were having to husband their strength.
Killeen accounted for every one of her charges, turned her face into the wind again, and started forward once more.
Far ahead of her, Cullen ploughed onward, taking his turn at breaking a path, torch held high. Killeen could hardly imagine how he could keep going, how he could bear to keep going, let alone how he could walk, head high, giving the straggling refugees hope through his confident bearing and steady pace.
If it was me, she thought, if it was him back there, if he feels for her what I feel for him …
I would lie down and let the snow cover me and leave the fate of the world in the Maker's capable hands.
And yet Cullen kept going.
A pale shape, drifting beside her, the heavy snow the merest dusting on his wide-brimmed hat. Cole, Killeen remembered he was called. "He wanted to keep her with him." A light, colourless voice, as pale as the strange boy himself. "Where she'd be safe, but he knew she'd hate him for it, knew nothing would keep her from what had to be done. He never truly knew how much he loved her, what love could feel like, until that moment, watching her running into danger, running away from him."
"Peachy," Killeen said.
"He has to trust she's behind him, somewhere, that she follows. He can't look back, can't show doubt. All those eyes on his back, trusting, following, leaning. He knows how strong she is."
"Enough, please."
The boy frowned, drifting along beside her. "That should have helped. Why didn't it help?"
"You know what would help, Cole?" Killeen said. "If you're going to listen to people's private thoughts? If you want to help?"
"I want to help," he said.
"Then listen out for people in trouble. Falling behind. Find them and let someone know. Someone still strong enough to help."
"Yes," Cole said. "I can do that."
Between one breath and another, he was gone.
Behind her, voices lifted in shouts — not of alarm, Killeen judged. She turned to look back and saw a huge shape looming up at the rear of the column, horns making him unmistakable. They made it.
Of course they did, she's the Herald.
But strain her eyes as she could, she couldn't see a fourth figure behind the Iron Bull, the squat shape of Varric beside him, Lady Vivienne's dark hands and face seeming disembodied as her white robe blended in with the snow.
Cullen charged past her. "Kill, with me," he tossed over his shoulder.
Killeen grabbed the refugee nearest her by the shoulder. "Keep them together until I get back," she ordered, and followed her Commander.
The Iron Bull met Cullen's eyes as they approached, and then shook his head and looked down.
"She might still have made it, Curly," Varric said. "She got the trebuchet away. Stranger things have happened, and not just in my books."
Cullen nodded, but his shoulders were slumped.
"What are we going to do?" Killeen asked softly.
He straightened. "Keep going. Find shelter. Get these people safe."
"Yes, ser," Killeen said. "I need to get back to my group, if that's …"
Cullen touched her arm, briefly, little more than a reflex. "Go."
"Yes, ser," Killeen said again, and slogged off back up the column.
Ahead of her, a woman carrying a child stumbled and fell to her knees. Killeen caught her up and bent to lift the little girl from her arms. Cradling the small form in one arm, she took the woman's shoulder with her free hand. "Come on. Get up. Not much further and then you can rest."
The woman tried to get her feet under her, sank back. "I can't. Leave me."
"Nope," Killeen said. "Your daughter will need a mother when we get to the end of this. You don't get to give up."
"Just an hour," the woman begged, eyes closing. "I can't go on without rest. I can't! Just an hour, then I'll follow."
Killeen paused. "Fine," she said. "One hour. I'll wait with you so you don't oversleep."
The woman's eyes drifted shut. Killeen counted five, slowly, and then took the woman's upper arm in a firm grip and shook her. "That's your hour. Come on, time to go." She hauled the blinking woman to her feet. "Come on. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot."
She got them back up the column to the group they belonged to and found it floundering, the young scout entrusted with it half-delirious with cold and a shoulder wound starting to fester. Killeen combined them with her own band of charges, assigned two of the stronger townspeople to help the scout walk, turned the staggering mother over to a third, hoisted the little girl higher on her hip, and trudged on.
And on.
And on.
The very last of combat adrenaline faded to nothing, and bone-deep weariness took its place. She lost her footing, staggered a second, and found it again. Years of experience had taught her that it took time to calm down after combat — that's why cities were sacked with such abandon after a siege — but when the nerves finally stilled and the muscles stopped quivering, when the heart slowed to normal and the mind stopped screaming kill or die, kill or die …
Then, raising a hand with a fork in it became too much effort. Pushing away from the mess-table and walking to one's own room became too much effort. Sometimes, even pushing the plate away before laying one's head on the table and succumbing to sleep was too much effort.
Not yet. Not yet. Not over yet. Not yet.
She went to her knees, got up, went down again two steps later. So tired. So tired …
"Up, Kill." Cullen bent over her, taking the child from her arms as Killeen herself had done, unknown hours ago. She braced herself, got one foot under her, got the other, staggered to her feet. "Can you walk?"
"Yes," she said, only possible answer to anything he ever asked of her. "Just … stand there a minute, will you?"
"Why?" Cullen asked.
"You make an excellent windbreak." Then she remembered just how awful he must feel right now, and could have bitten out her tongue.
"I'm glad I can be of some use to the people of Haven," Cullen said. With the little girl's blond head resting against his shoulder, he looked almost like any father carrying an overtired offspring home at the end of the day — except for the snow.
And the shadows in his eyes.
"Everyone here is following you," Killeen said. "I know you'd rather have been out there, fighting." With her. "But armies, even armies of civilians, need someone to follow, Cullen, you know that's the truth. And you're the best person here for that to be, better than anyone but the Herald herself."
His mouth turned down. "Your faith is misplaced."
Killeen slogged forward a step, grabbed his arm, got him turned around and moving in the right direction. "Nothing to do with faith," she panted.
"Oh?"
"Apart from the Iron Bull — and you'll never get a herd of panicked refugees to follow a Qunari — you're the tallest."
"That's it?" he gasped against the wind. "The full extent of my leadership qualifications?"
"Oh no," Killeen assured him. "You also have extremely visible hair."
"I think there might be one or two —" Cullen started, and then stopped. "All right. Consider your motivational talk a success."
"Oh, good." Killeen almost lost her footing and had to stop a second, head down against the howling wind. "Because after the hair I got nothing."
"The scouts say that there's shelter around the next bend," Cullen said. "It really isn't much further now."
"Terrific," Killeen said, starting forward. "Because an Elder One, a dragon, and a blizzard is at least one too many problems."
Suddenly, the pale boy in the hat was there, skimming over the snow as if it was no obstacle to him. "She's warm," he said urgently.
"Maker!" Cullen shied away, turning protectively to keep his shoulder between the little girl he cradled to his chest and the apparition.
"I'm glad someone's warm," Killeen said.
"No," Cole said. "No. She's in the snow, the warm snow. She's trying to keep going but she's tired. She's very, very tired. And it's hard to follow."
"Oh, shit," Killeen said. "Cullen, we're losing someone. Someone's fallen behind."
"No," he said, steel in his voice. "We will not lose anyone else."
"Cole, can you tell where she is?" Killeen asked.
"Yes." He flung out an arm and pointed.
"How did she get over there?" Cullen asked in exasperation. "She must have lost the rest of the group an hour ago. Aren't people doing their head-counts? Kill, can you —"
"She didn't wander," Cole said. "She's following. From a different place."
For a moment they were both silent. Killeen watched hope bloom in Cullen's face.
She held out her arms. "Give the kid to me," she said. "And go find the Herald."
Even in that moment, as frantic as he had to be to be moving, to go, to find her, Cullen was gentle as he settled the sleeping child in Killeen's arms, taking the time to pull a fold of Killeen's cloak across the little girl's head.
Then he nodded, turned, and ploughed away through the snow.
"Cole," Killeen said, "can you —"
"Go with him, make sure he doesn't go off alone, help him, keep him safe, find what mends him, so he didn't fail? Yes. He wants you to —"
"Get everyone around the bend, count heads, get the tents up, fires lit, food cooking."
"Yes." He regarded her intensely. "Can you do what I do? Hear people thinking?"
"Only Cullen."
"He is very loud," Cole said, and was gone.
The relief when they rounded the spur of rock and the wind abruptly dropped to nothing was so intense that Killeen laughed aloud, stopped herself when she felt tears freezing on her cheeks. Exhausted refugees stumbled to a stop, some dropping full-length where they stood. Others stood, staring blankly, pushed beyond all human limits by shock and fear and exhaustion.
Killeen stumbled between them, arms aching with the weight of the child but unable to find her mother or anywhere warm to set her down. She ordered and received head-counts, tallying each off against her memory of the assignments Cullen had given at the beginning of their journey. The strongest were sent off in small groups to find firewood with strict instructions to stay together and stay in sight of the camp. The next strongest, she tasked with pulling what tents they had off travois and druffalo packs and getting them set up.
"Can I help?" a raspy voice said from around her waist. Varric.
"Does that contraption of yours kill wildlife?" Killeen asked, looking down at the dwarf. "Because we'll need all the druffalo, I don't want to have to slaughter them."
"Also, the kiddies would cry," Varric said. "On it, Killer." He raised his voice. "Hey, Buttercup! Got a job for you and your arrows."
"Well, good," a blond elf replied, wearily getting to her feet, "because something I can actually shoot? Loads better than fucking dragons."
It took longer than Killeen would have believed possible, at least, longer than she would have believed it possible for her to still be on her feet and tracking her surroundings, but eventually they had shelter, they had heat, they had food, they had every single one of the refugees accounted for.
Except Cullen, and Cassandra, and the ones who went with them.
She tried not to think of how easy it would be for them — for him — exhausted as they were, to lose their way, to slip off a treacherous edge or, if they didn't find the Herald — or didn't find her in time — to give in to cold and fatigue and despair and just lie down, as so many of the refugees had tried to do, thinking just for a minute, I'll just rest for a minute …
She woke the little girl long enough to get some food in her, forced a few bites of stew down her own throat, tasting only dust and ashes, then forced herself to her feet again, the child still in her arms. There were tents, now, shelter, but somehow it seemed wrong to set her down in one of them, to leave her alone. Carrying her, Killeen paced back and forth between the fire and the guardpost closest to the route they'd taken to get here, straining her eyes against the snow, her ears against the wind.
"There!" the cry went up, and out of the dark came a little group of stumbling figures. Killeen's eyes went straight away to the tallest of them, blond hair crowned now with snow, strangely slimmer without the great weight of his cloak around his shoulder but instead bundled in his arms, wrapped around —
"We've found her!" Lady Cassandra called in triumph.
Carrying the Herald carefully in his arms, Cullen strode into the camp. Lady Montilyet hurried to direct him to their makeshift infirmary, and he turned in that direction, sweeping the crowd with a single glance.
His gaze met Killeen's, face bright with renewed hope and happiness, and he smiled.
She forced herself to smile back, but before she could be sure he'd seen it, he was inside the tent and …
Gone.