Chapter Seven: Seeing Red

Peredura looked around with wide eyes from within the relative safety of her helmet, nearly biting through her lip to keep from screaming in terror. Everything had gone to shit! And somehow, for some obscure reason she couldn't fathom, she had a bad feeling it was all because of her. She knew it was nothing more than leftover guilt from her old life, but feelings never responded to reason.

"Madam Herald," a male voice called out softly, almost making her jump out of her skin.

Right, Dorian, she had almost forgotten about the dashing Tevinter mage. He stood not too far away, staff in hand, peering down a darkened hallway. She walked back towards him, her bow gripped tightly in her hand, ready to use it as a cudgel if she somehow wasn't able to draw an arrow fast enough.

They were in a dungeon somewhere, just the two of them, thrown through time and space thanks to Alexius' magic, or so Dorian claimed. He had tried to explain it to her, how they had been transported through time, either to the future or the past, but probably to the future, and for an undetermined amount of years…

Dorian did like the sound of his own voice.

It made her head spin to think of it. It also made her heart race, realizing it was just the two of them, and she had to trust Dorian, because despite his being a Tevinter mage, he was the only other person who knew how to operate Alexius' time amulet. If they could find it, that is.

All she knew, was that it was damned scary here and she wanted to go back to Haven!

Dorian didn't turn at her approach, his hand pointing to one of the cells lining the hallway, a look of interest mixed with horror marring his pleasant features. "Over there. Look. Isn't that the qunari fellow you brought with you?"

She stopped a few paces short of him, just outside the hallway, unable to go inside. It was too much like her master's dungeon, where she had spent most of her time, waiting in a stupor between blood magic rituals. She was afraid, and she only had Dorian—someone she'd known for a few days and who under normal circumstances she should consider an enemy—for companionship.

She shook her head and dispelled her rambling thoughts, gripping her bow with both hands, trying to get in control of her emotions. Then, at precisely the moment she needed them most, Cullen's words came back to her. It had been weeks ago, after the incident at the lake, when they sat before a fire talking about fears and bravery. He had tried to explain something, and she had gotten the impression she hadn't quite understood. He had said bravery was facing what you fear, like a cave full of spiders, and doing what had to be done despite feeling afraid. She had answered, she supposed she could walk through a cave of spiders to reach a rift, as long as she had someone with her. She didn't now, not someone she trusted, like Cassandra or Solas or Bull. All she had was Dorian.

She stared hard at his profile, thinking if he had wanted to kill her, he could have done so a half-dozen times already. But he was helping her, promising to fix matters, to help her and the Inquisition, so she decided to trust him. She would face her fears with Dorian at her side.

Besides, if it was The Iron Bull in that cell…

Something rustled, sounding like chains rattling, and she thought she saw the tip of a horn inside the cell. Then a tune started, some sort of drinking song, or so she assumed, though why anyone would line bottles on top of a wall was beyond her. She forced one foot forward, then the other, then the first again until she stood beside Dorian. Looking inside the cell, peering through the bars, all she saw was shadow.

"The Iron Bull?" she called softly. "Is that you?"

"Huh?" the shadow inside the cell ceased its singing and rattled its chains again, sounding bemused and fuddled. "That you, Boss? Nah, can't be. You're dead."

That was Bull's voice, all right. "I…" her voice cracked as relief flooded her, and she gave a small cough to clear it. "I'm alive, The Iron Bull. I'm here and alive and I'm going to get you out, just, um, stay put."

She heard his soft chuckle; whatever had happened to him, to this world, at least that hadn't changed. "Easier done than said, Boss. Hey, is it really you? I mean, you're not a trick or a demon or anything, are you?"

She knelt down in front of the cell, trying to remember what Varric and Sera taught her about lock-picking. "It's really me," she assured him, carefully placing the pick into the lock and manipulating the tension wrench. "Remember that conversation we had in my bed, about why you call me Boss?" she felt the first pin lift into place and adjusted the wrench. "I was the one who took time to talk with Krem, after he'd stood outside for hours in the snow. I was the one who came to the Storm Coast and hired you and your Chargers. Therefore, ha!" she interrupted herself, feeling proud and accomplished that she had actually succeeded in picking the lock.

"You're the boss, Boss," Bull finished. "Okay, you're really you, and the cell's really unlocked. Good job. Now do you think you can get these chains off of me?"

"Don't forget about the rest of us," Varric's voice called from the cell next door. "If you're hosting a jailbreak party, I want in on it."

"I'll handle this," Dorian offered, "You go on to the next cell."

Peredura nodded, as Bull wasn't so much locked up as tangled and twisted in the chains. He must have fought long and hard to escape, only to entangle himself further. "What happened?" she asked, kneeling outside Varric's cell to work on his lock. Thankfully, it was as simple as the first, and she only broke one pick trying to open it.

"I'd like to ask you the same thing," Varric answered. "All I remember is, Alexius was posturing and gesturing with some amulet, your Tevinter friend there cast a spell, and everything went to shit."

Briefly Peredura remembered having the same thought, only a moment ago.

"We all thought you perished in the explosion. And with you dead, the Inquisition fell. Rifts started appearing all over the place. Some mental case calling himself 'The Elder One' took charge of everything, not hard to do considering he had a demon army at his back."

"Kaffas," she whispered softly, but it was at Varric's description of what had happened, not at the lock. She got it opened and pulled on the bars, freeing Varric. He didn't look at her, but stared at her hands and the lock-picking tools she held.

"Give them here, Snowdrop," he said softly, holding his hands out for her picks. "I'll free the rest of us. Even as rusty as I am after being caged up for so long, I've got to be quicker at this than you."

"Thanks," she answered, but it was without rancor. She turned back to see Bull stagger out of his cell, one hand on Dorian's shoulder. He slumped against the wall, deeming it sturdier than the mage. "Who all is in here?"

"Just about everyone," Bull answered. "They caught us right away, those of us who came with you to Redcliffe Castle. The others they tracked down, one by one, fairly quickly. And a few of them, well, Sera didn't make it."

"…Sera's… dead…?"

"It was quick," Bull tried to reassure her. "The guards, um, when they brought her in, well," he sighed, really not wanting to come right out and say it. "She was a lovely slip of a girl. They were, uh, getting a little rough with her, a little too rough, if you catch my meaning. She fought them, was doing a pretty good job of it, then it just happened. One of the guards, he grabbed her and they wrestled and, the next thing we knew, her neck had been snapped."

Peredura stuffed her fist into her mouth, feeling her lip just wasn't doing the job any longer.

"The Iron Lady, too, didn't last long," Varric added, using his nickname for Vivienne. "Took out a cell full of guards the first time they locked her up. Made one helluva fireball. But she took herself out with it, and Cassandra, who was in the cell across from her. There you go, Chuckles. Nice and free."

"Thank you, Varric," Solas said, far too calmly in Peredura's opinion. He looked to Peredura, and she could see a strange aura about him, red and sizzling like a lightening spell. She glanced back at Bull, and saw the same strange red glow about his eyes. "What happened to you?"

"Huh? Oh, you mean my eyes. Must be the lyrium," Bull waved his hand in front of his face, as if he was trying to dispel the strange light. "The guards have been force feeding some of us red lyrium ever since they imprisoned us. Most of us aren't so bad off yet; I can still function, if you need me for a fight, Boss. And we are gonna fight, aren't we?"

"Yes, of course we are," she answered, more to reassure him than out of any desire to see blood. "The Iron Bull, who else did they feed lyrium to?"

"Oh, mostly just those of us in the Inquisition, the higher ranked ones, like me and Varric and Solas. He had it the worst," Bull nodded his chin towards the cell across from his. "Managed to evade capture for, well, I don't know how long. Months maybe? They caught him, eventually, and brought him down here, fed him the shit same as the rest of us, but, uh…"

She couldn't turn around. She couldn't look into that cell. She knew—kaffas—she simply knew who would be in there…

The same man who had taught her how to be brave. So for his sake, she had to be brave.

She turned. At first, she didn't see anyone. The door was ajar, as if the guards didn't bother to lock it because the cell was empty. That wasn't exactly true; the cell wasn't empty, but full of the red crystal-like growths she and Dorian had been finding all over the dungeon. Raw red lyrium. Some grew up from the floor or down from the ceiling, but most were reaching outwards from the back wall. Looking closer, peering around all the growths, she discerned there was someone inside the cell, someone behind all the crystals, someone who had a wrist still chained to the back wall, someone whose bare shoulder was marred with an old wound, someone with frizzy blond hair.

"…Cullen…"

There seemed to be movement from within the cell and reflecting through the crystals, a subtle shift of shadow and light, a memory of a motion, but when she blinked she saw there had been no discernible change.

"I don't understand. Why…? How…?"

"He went through the cycle fast," Bull supplied, having had the clearest view into Cullen's cell. "I mean, really fast. I guess, having taken lyrium as a templar, his body was more receptive to it. Didn't take long at all for the changes to start." He moved away from the wall, regaining his strength, and stared sadly into the cell. "It was bad enough for me, being fed red lyrium every day, seeing what I would eventually become. But I can't image what he went through. Must've been ten times worse." He gave a disheartening sigh. "Ah, at least he's at peace. I haven't seen any sign of life in there for a long time now. The guards don't even bother him anymore."

"Nooooo…." she groaned, her heart echoing the wail. Unable to accept Bull's statement, she slipped into the cell and dodged around the lyrium until she reached his side.

"Hey, Boss, what are you…?" Bull tried to follow, but the crowding of the crystals were too tight, he knew he'd never get his horns through. He could only stand and stare, peeking through the lyrium, watching her from a distance.

Peredura had dropped her bow outside the bars, not wanting it to hinder her progress. It was tricky enough, slipping her thin frame through the crystals, wary of their heat and their poison and their little tendrils of electrified energy orbiting their heights. When she finally reached the back wall, she stopped with a startled gasp. Cullen was indeed in the cell, but…

"Kaffas," she whispered again, horror gripping her heart.

Almost half his body was… gone. Simply gone. His left arm and left leg, and a good portion of his torso starting with both hips and traveling upwards at a diagonal to engulf his left shoulder, even a large chunk of his head was… replaced?… with crystals shooting out in all directions. The red lyrium glowed menacing and hot, pulsing with life, whether Cullen's or its own. And he was still alive. In his chest she could see the lyrium had penetrated only as far as his ribs, his beating heart showing through in fractured light. Across his skin spread tentacles of red, reaching hungrily in ever thinning fingers, blurring the edges between lyrium and flesh. It created a surreal image, making it hard to tell if the lyrium was growing out of his body, or if his body was growing out of the lyrium.

"Cullen?" Her voice was no stronger than a whisper, a gentle breath of wind in an ungentle world.

His head, what was left of it, was hanging from his shoulders, his face turned down and away, presenting the lyrium side towards her. She reached around to touch his cheek, the cheek that was still there anyway. It was covered with several months growth of beard, but the skin beneath the coarse hairs was warm with life.

There was another stir of wind, this time falling across her exposed wrist—his breath. She tilted her head, intending to get a better view of his face, and saw his lips were moving. She moved in even closer, turning her ear so she could hear his faint mumblings. "For there is no darkness in the Maker's light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."

"What was that?" she called to him, willing him to hear her, praying he could answer.

He did. His head moved, lifting up a little, the weight of the lyrium heavy on his neck, but he did speak louder, and more clearly, "A prayer. For the lost. For the Inquisition. For me."

"Cullen, it's me," she pleaded with him to see her, to understand her, fearing the despair in the words he spoke, "It's Peredura. Remember? The Herald?"

"Peredura," he sighed, his strength fading and his head falling back down, pressing the increased weight against her hand. "We lost her first."

"I've come back," she gripped his cheek a little tighter and tried to lift his face. "I'm here, now, and I'm going to fix this."

"You can't," he moaned, "Not for me, anyway." She watched across the bridge of his nose as the lashes of his lone eye blinked. "Wait… Peredura? Is it really you? I… I can't see you…"

"It's me," she affirmed, one hand tearing off her helmet, revealing her face for any who would see. She twisted around until she entered his limited vision, and got a clear look at his full face. Barely she kept herself from gasping at the sight of his beautiful hazel eye, clouded over with the cursed red glow. The other eye was completely gone, stolen by the invasive growth, from his forehead across his check to the corner of his mouth, sweeping back to where his ear had been. She tried not to stare at the nightmarish vision of his skull and brain half-exposed, half-sealed within crystal.

"Peredura…" he blinked, barely able to make her out. "My Pere. How I've longed for this. I prayed… Maker have mercy on my soul, forgive my selfishness… but I asked only to hear your voice once more, before He took me."

She couldn't speak, couldn't find the words to answer him, to give him comfort, if comfort was what he sought. His words confused her, as if there was a whole part of their relationship she had somehow missed, helping to silence her voice.

"I tried, Peredura," he sighed, hanging his head once more. "I tried, for months, to continue the Inquisition without you, but the demons…" his voice broke under the force of his emotions. "Maker's breath, but I… I couldn't… they were too strong… and I didn't have enough templars… and we were out of lyrium… the right kind…"

"Sh," she tried to silence him, frightened by his words, by his passion. She brushed overgrown, frizzy blond hair back from what was left of his face and caressed his bearded cheek. "Sh, it's over now. I'm here. I'll fix this. I promise."

"Peredura," he sighed again, her name a prayer on his lips. She was beginning to get the feeling that he didn't believe she was truly there. "I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry. I wish… I wish I could have another chance."

"To defeat the demon army," she guessed.

"No," he squeezed his eye shut, his face filling with pain. "I mean, not only that. But before. Before you came here, to Redcliffe Castle, before the end. I think of all those times we talked, and I never told you…" He paused to open his eye, licking his lips, trying to keep his voice clear. "I've had a lot of time to think about this, about you, about what I felt. I don't know what I would have told you, what I should have told you, but I never even tried…!"

She wanted to comfort him, thinking his strong emotions were causing him physical pain. "Cullen, I'm here; you can tell me now, can't you?"

"Now? When it's too late?" A tear escaped his eye, glistening red. She didn't look to see if that was because it was full of red lyrium, or because it was reflecting the reddish light all around them. She brushed it away and held his gaze; it seemed to have a calming effect on him. When he spoke again, his voice was clearer, stronger. "Oh, Peredura, I should have done something. I should have spoken with you more, tested these timid feelings I had for you. But I… I couldn't… not after… what had happened to me… I never wanted…"

Again, she was shocked into silence, unable to believe he was saying what he was, er, wasn't saying, or something like that.

When he spoke again, his voice was calmer, softer, closer to death. "I… I think… Peredura… my Pere, my precious Pere, I… I think I might've loved you, or could have loved you, if given the chance. I didn't understand the feelings I had for you back then. I never even tried to talk with you about how I felt, or ask how you felt. I should have; I see that now, and I'm so very sorry. We'll never know if there could have been anything between us, not until I join you at the Maker's side."

"Don't talk like that," she pleaded, the fear growing inside her like the red lyrium growing inside his cell, invasive and cruel and relentless.

"It's too late. For us. For me. Peredura, please…" his voice faded away into a soft moan of pain. He panted, struggling to take in a deep breath with only half a chest. "Maker! It hurts too much. It needs to end. Let it end. Help me, Peredura. Spare me this torment!"

She pulled away, understanding dawning in her mind. He wanted to die. He needed to die. But the lyrium wouldn't let him, not until it finished consuming him, at any rate; and Maker only knows how long that would take. Reactively her hand found the hilt of her dagger, secure at her waist, and drew it slowly from its sheath.

He held her gaze, words now failing him, his lone eye hard and cold, his right hand twitching where it remained chained against the wall, as if he would grasp the knife himself and plunge it into his heart.

But his heart, like so much of his body, was protected by the lyrium that was killing him. Her hand shaking, she brought the blade up to the part of his neck that was still flesh, her other hand reaching out to hold his, giving him some small comfort. "Cullen, I…" her words stopped as quickly as they had started. He gave her a sympathetic smile, without rancor or malice for what she was about to do. and nodded once.

She leaned forward and, before her nerve broke, kissed him.

The next moment, wet burst over the front of her armor, wet that swelled with heat stolen from a body. She didn't move away, she didn't even flinch, but remained locked within the limited embrace, until his final breath was swallowed by her sobs.

Cullen was dead. By her hand.

"Snowdrop?" Varric's voice called to her.

She opened her eyes, not having realized that she had closed them, to find herself kneeling at Cullen's feet. Her dagger was still in her hand, stained red like the lyrium. She stared at it, wanting to blame it for everything that had gone wrong in this messed-up future, because there was nothing else to blame. Besides, the dagger had taken Cullen's life.

—she had taken Cullen's life.

"Hey, ah, Boss? You okay in there?"

No, she wanted to answer Bull's question, but her voice was taken, spilled out of her like Cullen's blood had spilled out of him. She took a staggering breath, feeling her body rock with the effort to perform the normally simple, life-sustaining act.

And lifted her eyes up to what was left of Cullen's chest.

A third voice sounded, masculine and suave, beginning with a gentle clearing of his throat. "Excuse me, but we really shouldn't stay here too long. Must get back to the past and all that."

Dorian, she thought to herself. A Tevinter. A mage. How much of her life had been fucked over by mages? Vivianus Vicici and his delusion that her blood held power, Gereon Alexius and his time-bending amulet, Dorian Pavus and… and… Well, given time, she figured he'd probably find a way to mess up something in her life, especially if he remembered her.

The fingers of her other hand found her helmet, fumbled for a moment, and finally managed to pick it up.

"Would you care for a hand?" It was Dorian again, right beside her. She didn't start at his voice, didn't answer him, but she also didn't resist when he took hold of her arm, mindful of the helmet, and lifted her to her feet. He held on to her for a moment, watching her critically as she quietly wiped her dagger on her leggings, looked to find it still covered in blood, and resigned herself to sheathing it uncleaned.

Still she didn't speak, but started for the entrance of the cell, weaving her way between the eerily glowing stalactites and stalagmites. Back in the hallway, she had room to grip her helmet in both hands and replace it onto her head.

"Peredura," Solas stepped forward, looking less strange now with his red glow, the extent of Cullen's transformation putting the others' changes into perspective. "Listen to me. If you can, you must go back, back to the very moment you left us. It's the only way you can save us now, save Thedas," his voice grew even quieter as he added, "Save Cullen."

Her eyes closed, the pain swelling upwards like a tidal wave. Cullen might have loved her, and she had been forced to kill him. She pushed the pain back, set it aside for a later time, and opened her eyes to focus on what Solas was telling her.

"…stop the Empress from being assassinated, and all this may yet be avoided. This world is an abomination, Peredura. You must keep it from coming into being. Do you understand?"

She nodded silently.

"WE will," Dorian stressed, coming up to her side yet again. He seemed to like it there, just a bit too much.

Feeling suffocated, she moved away from the others, not wanting to hear them talking to her, not wanting to see how they had been changed, not wanting to accept this future as being written in stone. It had be to changed; there had to be a way to change it. And she would find that way, for the sake of Cullen's blood on her knife. Nothing else mattered!

When she finally did speak, her voice was harsh and full of unbridled resolution.

"Where can I find Alexius?"

Peredura stood near the edge of camp, deep in thought. Behind her sat her friends, her cohorts, Solas and Bull and Varric, laughing and celebrating around a campfire. Dorian sat with them, retelling yet again the tale of how he and Peredura had traveled to the future, discovered it in shambles, and came back in time to kick Alexius' ass. It sounded easy the way he told it, but he left out a few crucial parts.

Her hand settled itself on the tainted dagger at her side, knowing she would never be able to wipe those memories from her mind.

After returning to the present and defeating Alexius, Peredura had offered the mages an alliance with the Inquisition. That pissed off a few of her friends, but Peredura simply could not force anyone into anything even remotely feeling like slavery. The mages could be their allies, willingly helping them close the Breach, or they could go on their way. Grand Enchanter Fiona had been smart enough to see there was no where the mages could go, if they didn't help Peredura and the Inquisition. So perhaps there was some coercion involved, and the thought left Peredura feeling soiled and moody.

But afterwards—she promised herself—after the mages and their magic helped her to close the Breach, she promised herself she would keep her word: the mages would be free to go.

Cassandra, Vivienne, and Blackwall had elected to escort the mages—and their prisoner, Alexius—to Haven, going at a slower pace than Peredura and her group. It bothered her, splitting up as they had; even though it was nothing compared to being separated from her friends by time. It left her feeling uneasy, out of touch, in need of something that would reunite that bond between her and her friends, the bond she feared had been severed by her experience in the future.

"Hey, Boss!" boomed Bull's voice. "Come share a drink or two with us. You'll get cold standing there all by yourself."

"Leave her be, ox-man," Dorian's normally charming voice quickly turned acidic. "You don't know what she went through…"

"What?" Varric, noticing Bull's hackles rise at the racial slur, stepped in before a fight could get started. "I thought you told us everything. What juicy details did you leave out?"

"Varric, perhaps this isn't the time…" Solas tried to distract the dwarf from prying into any secrets. He shot a glance over to Peredura's back, the others following his gesture. She hadn't moved, hadn't made any indication that she had heard Bull's invitation, or the heated banter that followed.

"Yeah, well, I guess you're right," Varric backed down. "You know what? It's getting late. Why don't we all turn in? That way, we'll be ready for an early start tomorrow."

"Good idea," Solas agreed, making his voice sound quite reasonable. "I'll take the first watch, shall I?"

Bull looked like he wanted to argue, but backed down when Varric dug his elbow into his ribs. It certainly didn't hurt the massive qunari, but he did notice it. "Yeah, all right, I guess I am pretty tired." He grunted while he gained his feet, before a sudden inspiration hit him. He walked over to Dorian and held out his hand, a warm smile playing across his lips. The Tevinter looked at it suspiciously, but accepted Bull's offer to help him to his feet. He immediately regretted it, wincing as his hand was nearly crushed. "Call me ox-man again," Bull growled softly, "And it'll be the last word you ever utter."

It took all of Dorian's willpower to remain calm; he'd be damned before he showed weakness in front of a qunari. "Really, The Iron Bull, you started it by calling me a Vint, remember?"

Bull thought about it for a moment before he grudgingly laughed. "You got me there, Vint. Good night."

"Pleasant dreams, ox-man."

Solas had ignored the exchange, his focus on Peredura. He didn't like the melancholy that was plaguing her; the young woman had enough on her plate already. He set a hand on her shoulder, trying to gently bring her out of her dark thoughts. "Peredura, it's time for bed. You should get some rest."

She felt his hand on her shoulder. She turned around, looking at him, looking at Bull and Dorian seemingly shaking hands, looking at Varric secreting the wineskin under his vest. "I want us to do something," she announced suddenly.

"Do what?" Solas asked, even as the others paused to listen.

"Something… celebratory… rewarding… important…" she looked away, feeling her eyes tear up. "Something for all of us. Something to be remembered by."

"Ah, Snowdrop, we are on our way back to Haven, so you can close the Breach. That is kinda momentous." Varric gently reminded her. He was also growing more worried about her state of mind, which was one reason he had pressed Dorian for more details. He knew something was bugging the girl, something devastating, judging by the sheer amount of blood that had suddenly appeared on her armor right after she and Dorian returned from the future. The last thing they needed was for the Herald of Andraste, the only person who could close the Breach, to lose her marbles. Someone needed to find out what was wrong, what had happened in the dark future that had upset her so deeply and left such a long-lasting mark, and not just on her clothing.

Peredura ignored him, turning back to Solas. "You said there was a dragon nearby…"

Her companions' reactions were vast. Dorian groaned some lament about ruining his best robes. Varric said it sounded like it would be quite a party, in a voice dripping with sarcasm. Solas sputtered a moment, wondering how he could find a way to dissuade her. But it was Bull's, "Oh, Boss, you say the sweetest things!" that sealed the deal.

Resigned, Solas began working out the best way to keep Peredura back and out of the fight, and then the best way to inform Commander Cullen what they had done…

Peredura felt alive.

More than that, she felt… Well, there wasn't a word for it, not even in the vocabulary left behind in her mind by the Tranquil. Not that she used that resource any longer; having spoken the language in Ferelden for so long, she was remembering the words on her own. Sure, the occasional Tevinter word would slip out now and again, usually when she was surprised or scared, but for the most part, she was beginning to think and speak like a Ferelden.

Except for maybe the urge to hunt a dragon. That part, she supposed she would have to blame on Bull.

But none of that mattered now. They were walking into Haven, their spirits high, with a trophy to commemorate the occasion. There were cheers and excitement rising from the crowd beginning to gather at their approach. And most importantly, an epic tale—that didn't involve time travel to a grisly and macabre future—for Varric to embellish. Her blood was singing with victory, the endorphins and adrenaline still saturating her veins. This must be what Bull meant, she mused, that evening he lamented that things were getting stale and boring and he felt the need for something challenging, something to heat his blood and wake him up. She certainly felt awake. Awake and alive and free and… capable!

There was only one thing, or one person rather, who could make her feel even better.

"Solas! Varric!"

And there in the middle of the road he stood. Cullen. Also alive and capable and free of red lyrium. She gave a small cry of joy, her smile all but bursting apart her helmet, and ran towards him. She intended to hug him, to laugh and sing and rejoice in life, but his scowl deepened the closer she approached. She skidded to a halt not half a pace from him, her brown eyes wide, her smile sliding into open-mouthed disbelief. He didn't look at her, didn't pay her any heed at first, his eyes scanning her companions and pinning each of them in turn.

"Where have you been? Seeker Pentaghast arrived yesterday with the mages, stating that you all had left ahead of her. You were entrusted with the safety of the Herald, yet you show up days overdue. Why didn't you arrive sooner? Madam Herald," he acknowledged her briefly before turning back to the others. "Well, I'm waiting for an explanation."

"Cullen?" she said softly, and the informal address startled him. He looked down at her, his expression a mixture of shock and fear.

"Er, ah, Madam Herald," he stressed her title, giving an inclination of his head.

This was wrong, this was so very wrong, not at all like she thought it would happen. Wasn't he supposed to be in love with her? Or think he might be? Or something like that?

"Maker's breath! What happened to you?"

"What?" She was growing even more confused, as he got over his awkwardness and moved on to alarmed concern.

Focusing on his face, she saw he'd finally been paying attention to her, his eyes sweeping up and down her entire form. "Are you hurt? Do you need a healing potion? Your armor, it's covered in blood!"

Right. Blood. His blood. Blood she had spilled after he had pleaded with her to kill him. She nervously eyed the crowd, feeling their stares upon her like sharpened knives. "Er, perhaps we could speak somewhere private?"

He got over his shock quickly, and resumed his hard stare, this time aiming it at her. He took a long moment, breathing in and out of his nose, before he answered, "Perhaps we should. Come along." He turned on a copper and stalked through the crowd, which parted for him like tree branches before a gale. She followed, obeying his command without question, feeling like she was being led to her slaughter.

She wasn't far off. Cullen took her to the other side of the army's encampment, not an ideal location for privacy, but far enough away from those gathering around Varric for them both to feel comfortable. The dwarf was already in full swing, starting his tale with what happened at Redcliffe Castle, elaborating on the spot, effectively taking all eyes off of Peredura and Cullen.

"Well?" he prompted once it seemed they were alone enough.

What could she say, she wondered. Somehow, standing there in the full light of day, with Cullen so alive and whole and strong and untainted, she couldn't tell him what she had seen. She couldn't bring herself to tell him about the abominable future, the way red lyrium had taken over his body yet wouldn't kill him, how he had pleaded with her to spare him a long and agonizing death.

"At least tell me that isn't your blood."

"What?" she blinked, seeing his finger pointing accusingly at her chest. She dropped her face to look at the gore staining her armor. "Oh. No, no it isn't."

"Whose blood is it?"

Her expression turned stricken, thankfully hidden from him thanks to her helmet and the angle of her stare. No, Maker forgive her, but no, she had to lie, she couldn't tell him the truth. It would cost him too much, to hear it so coldly and plainly, how he had suffered so terribly and for so long that he begged for death. Such a concept, such a prediction, could break even the strongest of men—even Cullen. "It… it was during a fight, I had to use my knife, up close, and it got messy."

"While fighting Alexius?" he asked, his voice sounding understanding and almost sympathetic. She looked up, confused yet again by his sudden change, and he elaborated, "Cassandra told me what happened, as far as she knew, about Alexius and his time amulet, how you and Magister… er… Altus Pavus claimed to have been to the future."

"We were," she nodded, wanting to dispel his doubt. Immediately she regretted it, remembering she didn't want to have to elaborate on what happened in the future that they had to avoid…

Her head was beginning to hurt. Maker, but if she never time traveled again, it would be too soon.

"It's complicated," she hedged, looking off to the side, unable to hold his gaze. "I'll, um, I'll explain it all, when we're together, with Cassandra and Leliana and Josephine. I'd rather not go over it again and again, if you don't mind."

"I look forward to it." He didn't sound enthused about the upcoming meeting, merely repeating a platitude that civilized society demanded. In the silence that followed, Varric's voice floated across the trodden snow towards them. "Wait…" Cullen said, tilting his head to better hear Varric. She realized the dwarf was coming to the part where she had suggested they find a dragon, and opened her mouth to say something, anything, to distract Cullen or drown out Varric. Cullen lifted his gloved hand, cutting her off before she could exhale, his focus on the tale.

She could only stand there and watch, watch his face fill with horror and surprise, watch his eyes turn cold and hard, watch his stance grow taller and straighter.

"You…" he quickly broke off, making a disgusting noise almost on par with Cassandra. He had to take several steps away lest he impulsively put his hands around her throat. When he felt in control of himself once more, he returned to face her down. "You were late coming back to Haven, because you wanted to hunt down a dragon?!"

"It wasn't quite like that…"

"Oh, believe me, I know Varric can tell a tall tale when he puts his mind to it. But I do see the horn Bull has been dragging behind you all," he pointed that judgmental finger over her shoulder to where she presumed Bull was standing. "That had to have come from a dragon."

"It did," she answered meekly, staring at her toes.

"Did a dragon attack you on your way back here?"

"No."

"So you did go looking for it."

"I… well… sort of… I suppose… it wasn't like that… exactly…" she stuttered.

Cullen closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as if someone had recently struck him solidly in the face. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice sounded heavy and worn with the weight of years, "Yes or no, was it your idea to go seek out a dragon to fight?"

"Yes."

The word fell from her lips, like the first gentle snowflake of an oncoming blizzard.

"Maker…! Do you know…" he stopped to pant, so angry he was unable to form the sentence in one breath, "Did you stop to think… what would happen… if you were killed?" His hands at last found her body, gripping her shoulders and giving her a sharp shake.

Her head wobbled back and forth, not enough to do damage, but enough to hurt and snap her out of her submissiveness. "I face death every day," she shrugged off his grip, feeling hurt and angry and no longer meek. "Besides the mark almost costing my life, there are the rifts spewing out demons, wild animals in the countryside, rogue mages and templars, Venatori, an assassin…"

"Which is why it was so STUPID of you to go running off like that, courting danger!" he overrode her objections. He saw he'd struck a blow, somewhere among his words, her eyes growing just a little wet. "Your life is dangerous enough; don't take any more risks than you have to."

She didn't back down, she didn't cower. Though her eyes remained moist, she didn't even shed a tear. But damn it she was on the defensive, and though she didn't lose ground, she couldn't figure out how to regain what she had lost.

"From now on, you will not take any unnecessary risks," he commanded, waggling his finger in front of her nose, "And I'll lay it out in clear and simple terms so there would be no misunderstanding. No dragons. No bears. No jumping off of cliffs. No thin ice or spider filled caves. Your life will be boring and quiet and safe, until AFTER the Breach is closed. Then you can go break your neck for all I care. Is that understood?"

Peredura was livid. His lack of faith in her abilities stung; it cut her to the quick and left her bleeding as surely as her master's blood magic. Very well, if he wanted her obedience, then he'd have it! "Is that an order, Commander?"

He didn't hear the quiet and deadly tone in her voice. His only thought was that, if treating it as an order would mean she would stay safe, then he'd give it as an order. "It is."

She slapped her heels together and slammed her fist against her chest, a poor and unpracticed salute. "Yes, Ser!" Smartly she turned on her heel and stormed off, her hands making fists as her arms hung stiffly at her sides. She hardly noticed the honor guard hurrying to catch up with her, now that she was back in Haven, her only thought was to get away from the Commander before she did or said something she would regret.

She passed Dorian without seeing him. It didn't surprise him, having gotten a good look at her eyes overflowing with ire as she stormed down the path. Her whole person was positively fuming, and he had to admit it leant an intriguing and intimidating quality to a girl who was otherwise, in a word, unassuming.

But attraction wasn't the reason why he started after her. He knew how important she was to the Inquisition, and since he seemed to be the only person who noticed how upset she was, he felt it was up to him to make sure nothing devastating had happened—or, er, happened again, that is. He didn't make it two paces, however, before a gruff and leering voice stopped him. "Hey, Vint!"

He gave a long suffering sigh, but turned and faced his tormentor, "Yes, you mindless walking sack of muscle?"

Bull smiled at him, laughing good-naturedly at the insult, as he approached. They were standing in the middle of the lane, a little ways from the tents where the Chargers were stationed. It was private enough, but he dropped his voice just in case. "Hey, I, ah, just wanted to say," he paused to clear his throat, "Thanks."

Dorian didn't answer, but stared at him with his light blue eyes.

Bull cleared his throat again, glancing over his shoulder to where Krem, damn him, was watching them. "Back when we were fighting the dragon, you cast that spell, around each of us. It, ah, was really helpful, you know, during the fight."

Dorian indulged in the smirk, basking in the gratitude of a qunari. "Oh, you mean the spell that put a magical barrier around you? Yes, that particular spell does come in handy on occasion. It can keep you from getting hurt, taking the damage that would otherwise be inflicted upon your person."

"Yeah, that it did. Saved my skin."

The altus smiled and gestured grandly. "Well, I had to do something. The rest of us stayed back out of range, but you were foolish enough to charge the beast head on. I had to offer you some sort of protection, for Peredura's sake, you understand. She is rather fond of you."

There was a bit of innuendo in his voice, and Bull played with it. "Jealous?"

"Of you or her?" Dorian laughed. "Try again, my barbaric friend; I don't care whom you sleep with."

"Really? Huh…" he sighed, his eyes calculating. Dorian got the distinct impression Bull was reading far too much for his own good.

"I, ah, should get going. Until later, ox-man."

He tried hard to ignore the soft chuckle floating through the wintery air behind his back.

Dorian almost raced down the snow-covered dirt road, not sure if he was trying harder to get away from Bull or catch up with Peredura. Either way, it was enough for his steps to hasten down that lane, dodging puddles of slippery ice and skipping over small banks of snow. He wasn't far behind her, however, coming across Peredura, and her honor guard, standing on a bridge over one side of the lake. The two former templars barred his way, one holding his spear across his path while the other continued his diligent scan for danger.

"Hold!"

"Oh, back off, you sorry excuse for a lapdog." Dorian might have been a little less than charming at that moment, but he was still slightly flustered by Bull. The guard made a convenient target. "I'm Dorian Pavus, a close friend of Madam Herald's."

"We know who you are, Ser," the guard managed to put an insulting slur into the last word. "You're not to approach her ladyship without permission."

"Devensport," Peredura's voice called from where she was leaning on the railing of the bridge, "He's a friend. Let him pass."

"Begging your pardon, Madam Herald," he spoke to her without taking his eyes off of Dorian, "But we've got orders, who is trusted and who isn't. And, according to the Commander, he isn't, or hasn't been, yet, or something."

"I trust him," she emphasized, "Don't force me to make this an order."

"Again, your Worshipfulness, sorry, but we takes our orders from the Commander."

She stared at him, some of her earlier ire still floating about her, and the guard swallowed. "We'll let Magister Pavus approach, Madam Herald, but we won't trust him."

"Altus," she corrected.

"Your Worship?"

"Never mind." She let out an exasperated breath, but dropped the argument. Apparently she had done a fair imitation of Cullen's glare, if she got Devensport to compromise. She shook her head and returned to staring out over the frozen lake as Dorian slipped past them.

"Thank you, my good man. Ah, Peredura, how lovely you look in the evening light."

"What do you want, Dorian?"

He really didn't like how tired she sounded. Yes, they had been through a lot, but they were safe now; she should be feeling better. "Just some idle conversation," he said, a little too loudly, making her lift her head and wonder what was going on. He flicked his eyes off to the side, and she glanced over his shoulder at her guards, who were listening to every word spoken, even though they remained on constant alert for danger. Dorian gave her a slight nod, indicating that he knew the guards were listening, and dropped his voice, "I, ah, thought you might like to talk, now that we've put some distance between us and that incident."

She turned away again, staring at her hands hanging off the railing, her fingers interlaced. She could feel the cold snow from the top of the railing seeping through her coat to her skin, but she didn't move to wipe it off. "I'd rather not…"

"No? Pity, considering I'm the only one you can talk with about what happened."

Could she, she wondered. She supposed so, since he was the only one who had gone with her into the future. And she did trust him now; after he'd saved her life, and she saved his, several times over. Yet… "Nothing happened."

Dorian leaned in a little closer, saw her guard shift uneasily out of the corner of his eye, and thought better of it. He settled for keeping his voice low and quiet so it wouldn't travel quite so far. "You know that's not quite true. I was there, Peredura, right beside you when it happened. I saw and heard everything."

"You…" she was startled enough to look back at him again.

"I have to admit, it confuses me, too."

"I'm not confused, well, maybe, but, oh…" she turned to her favorite pastime, biting her lip.

"I understand. I had thought at first that you and, um," he mouthed the word, 'Bull,' "Were an item. You did mention something about the time the two of you were talking in bed…"

"No!" she jumped, gripping his arm to stop him from talking. Realizing her forward action, and loud voice, she calmed herself and said in a much quieter tone, "I, um, that is, we, he and I, were just sitting on my bed, talking, fully clothed and everything. Nothing happened between us."

"Ah." She thought she heard a relieved sort of sigh in his voice. He must have thought the same thing, because the next moment he was stuttering, "Good! I mean, er, fine. Glad to hear it. He isn't right for you, anyway."

They both turned to stare out over the lake, fighting the heat flushing their cheeks.

"Peredura," he was the first to recover and find his voice, "You're upset; that much is obvious. And I would hazard to guess it has something to do with the way HE," Dorian very thoughtfully avoided using Cullen's name, "Acted upon our arrival, does it not?"

Her silence was affirmation enough.

"Ah, you poor girl. How long have you had a crush on him?"

"I…" she peeked at him from within her helmet, the denial ready and set behind her lips. She stopped, however, upon seeing the disbelief on his face. "I guess, I don't know, I haven't, I don't think, anyway…"

"Just a moment: do you, or do you not, have feelings for him?"

She shrugged. "I wouldn't know it if I did. I've never had the chance before to develop feelings for anyone."

"What?" It was his turn to raise his voice a little louder than necessary. Giving a cough as an excuse, he continued, "You're a grown woman, aren't you, not a child. There must have been someone in your past who had caught your eye or spoke some words of flattery that made your heart flutter. Or were you promised to the Chantry from infancy? Raised in complete isolation from the world?"

Her face grew pained, but behind her cheek guards, all he could see were her eyes squeezed shut. "Something like that. Let's just say, I didn't know very many people, not until I came here and," she lifted the palm of her left hand, "This happened."

He gave a sympathetic hum. "Must have been quite a learning experience, all this rift business on top of learning how to interact socially."

She dropped her hand to dangle over the railing. "It was. It is. Dorian…" she looked up at him, hesitant, needing someone to confide in, someone who would understand what she had experienced. And as much as she would prefer to talk with Cassandra about this, the Seeker hadn't been there in the future, hadn't seen what had happened and what Peredura had done. Dorian had. Retreating as far as she could inside her helmet, she asked, "What did I do wrong?"

"You assumed," he answered simply.

She stared at him blankly.

"Well, my dear girl, what did you expect? Comm…, er, the man here, in Haven, isn't the same man we met in the future. That other man had been imprisoned for months, tortured with lyrium, immured within an unending crucible. He may very well have had feelings for you. Or, he could have just as easily made up those feelings, as a sort of retreat from his current torment, a safe haven in his mind where he could imagine a happier, better time. Either way, the man whose blood you wear is not the same man you just had words with."

She sighed, his words making sense, more sense anyway than when he tried to explain time travel. "So, Cull… I mean, HE doesn't have feelings for me?"

"I couldn't say," Dorian answered honestly. "I haven't had the pleasure of knowing him long enough to form an opinion. But at least he is concerned for your safety; that's something, isn't it?" he thumbed at the guards behind them.

"Only because I'm the only one with this," she lifted her hand again. "If there was someone else who could close rifts, or the Breach, he wouldn't focus quite so much on me."

They grew silent for a bit, before Peredura asked, "I don't know, Dorian. What should I do?"

"Give it time."

She rolled her eyes. "Time? You had to say that?"

He gave a stutter of a laugh. "Poor choice of words. But honestly, if there is something between the two of you, it might need just a little time to develop. Give it a chance. Give yourself a chance." He could tell she didn't believe him. He watched her turn back to the lake, dropping her face to hide within her helmet. "Peredura," he pressed, taking hold of her shoulders and forcing her to face him. "Look at me. Look up! That's it," he encouraged when they finally made eye contact. Once more he was struck by her eyes, a pair of orbs of the softest brown, and somehow familiar. He brushed the feeling aside and continued, "And take this off." Quickly, before she could figure out his intentions, he pulled the ties of her cheek guards and slipped off her helmet.

Peredura gasped, taking half a step back, her hands flying to the sides of her head. Thankfully, despite his hasty yanking, her hair had remained in place, securely in its ponytail and covering her mutilated ears. But her face, her scars, were in plain view. She brought her hands to her cheeks next, but he swiftly dropped her helmet and grabbed her wrists, preventing her from hiding her features.

"No you don't, my dear, not until I'm finished." She froze, like a startled halla in the wilderness, staring at him with an expression akin to nervous fear. He let go of one wrist, ignoring the way her hand hung immobile in the air between them, and pressed his hand against her scarred flesh. "I've seen this already, in Comm… er, in his cell, when you took off your helmet so he could recognize you. That qunari bully of yours was concerned for your safety and sent me in after you, since he couldn't fit. So don't worry about hiding them from me. Besides, you are a beautiful woman; it's time you realized that. And I don't mean just your character, though that is quite remarkable on its own merit. But your appearance is stunning as well."

Those soft brown eyes filled with tears. "You don't mean that…"

"Venhedis," he sighed, "You mean to tell me no one has ever told you how beautiful you are?"

"No," she shook her head, "Of course not."

"What do you mean, of course not? You're not concerned about your scars, are you?"

She nodded. "How can I be beautiful, when I'm full of…" she stopped herself before telling him about the rest of her scars.

"Take it from me, Peredura, you are beautiful. I should know," he stated confidently, "I do happen to be an expert on beauty, being cursed as I am with an overabundance of it."

She laughed, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was his charm, perhaps it was his overconfident manner, or perhaps she simply needed a laugh. Either way, the laughter burbled out, mingling with tears along the way.

Dorian had been afraid this might happen. He sighed and took her in his arms, giving her a shoulder to cry on, ignoring the awkwardness he felt, all for her sake.

Neither of them saw the darkly cloaked figure staring at them with hard hazel eyes. No one heard the leather of his glove creak as he watched them embrace. He thought he had overreacted, thanks to a recent decrease in his lyrium intake, and had come to make amends, only to find Peredura finding comfort in another man's arms. After a moment, Commander Cullen turned and stalked away, his apology forgotten.