Chapter Eight: No More Safe Haven
Half.
He was down to half a dose.
Every morning when Cullen rose, whether he had slept or not, his first thought would be of lyrium. His hand would reach out, in the pre-dawn darkness, fingers shaking as they searched for his kit. He wouldn't be able to breathe until he found it, right where he had left it, on the table beside his cot.
Then his true torment began.
Maker's breath! what cost; staring at the closed box, shoring his will—his commitment—to the Inquisition, before he would allow himself to even open it. How his eyes would water at the sight, the light blue glow of lyrium, slipping past the glass of its vial to fill up his tent. In an almost trance-like state he would prepare his dose, carefully measuring the lyrium, taking off an eighth of the prescribed amount… a quarter… a third…
Half. Half a dose this morning. His hand shook as he brought the cup to his lips, but with so little in there, he wasn't in danger of spilling a single drop. He tried to sip slowly, to take more time, to fool his body into thinking it was getting a full dose… But there was no mistaking the decreasing amounts. Apparently, his body was smarter than him.
He'd seen others withdraw from lyrium, so he knew the signs, and he'd seen the signs in himself already. Even though he was trying to wean himself slowly, even though he hadn't stopped cold as so many others had been forced to do—it was getting harder to hide the effects. He was continually tired, unable to sleep thanks to aching muscles and profuse sweating and every so often the sensation of ants crawling over his skin. But it wasn't only the physical symptoms that were plaguing him. Old memories were coming back, fresh and strong and with such fine detail he could almost swear he was once more trapped outside the Harrowing Chamber at Kinloch, or fighting through waves of demons in the Gallows' halls at Kirkwall.
And Peredura, damn her, haunted his mind; he often found his thoughts obsessing around her continuously, even when there were other matters requiring his immediate attention. He'd find himself assessing her growing abilities with the mark, reviewing her practice with her bow, watching her like a hawk whenever she sparred with Cassandra or one of his recruits. He'd also feel the need to constantly go over contingency plans should her assassin resurface, check and double-check every new mage at Haven, a seemingly unending task thanks to the events at Redcliffe. At night he would lie awake and worry about her relationship with Dorian and what effects that could have on her. Not that he was jealous, certainly; he had no opinion whatsoever regarding with whom she spent her free time. But Dorian was a male mage from Tevinter; he could be distracting her, flattering her, taking advantage of her naivety, leaving her open and defenseless…
He realized he was doing it again. He finished and set the empty cup off to the side, resisting the urge to tip it completely upside down over his open mouth and shake every last drop from its depths. Now came the hardest part of the day: the interminable wait for that initial surge when the lyrium hit his system. He made his hands grip the edge of his camp cot, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, imagining he could feel the lyrium getting absorbed into his blood, spreading through his body via his veins, renewing his strength and abilities and awareness.
As good as it would feel, it was no longer enough. He had been keenly noticing it, the decrease in his power. He wasn't as strong as he should be. He wasn't as able! He couldn't tell as quickly, if a mage was practicing his craft and drawing from the Fade! He should be taking his full dose, not half! With so many mages in the camp, it was very likely that accidents would happen, and he would have to step in and settle disagreements, determine who was at fault, keep the peace. He may even be called upon to use his power just to keep a volatile situation from getting out of hand. Yet how could he? How could he, crippled as he was, with only half his abilities, half his reason…?
Half his dose.
Stay in control, he told himself as blunt nails tried to dig into the wooden frame of his cot, hold on just a little longer. After today it would get better. After today the Breach would be closed—Maker willing—and the mages could go on their way. Not ideal, he still wanted to restore some sort of restrictions upon the mages, some system of checks and balances to keep things from getting out of hand. Like they had at Kinloch. Like they had at Kirkwall.
A chilling thought crept into his head, causing him to blink his eyes open in surprise and apprehension; was he cursed? Two major circles had fallen in recent memory, and he was involved in both incidences. His hand lifted from the cot to rub at his stubbled chin, ignoring the fact that he needed a shave. There were so many mages here, in Haven, and he was here…
He pushed himself up from his bed, as if he could physically move away from the fearful thoughts that poisoned his mind, the feeling of dread that gripped his heart, the closeness of the air inside his tent that threatened to strangle him. He rushed over to the opening of his tent, wearing nothing more than the loose leggings he had slept in, desperately needing air. He pushed the flap aside and stood there, in the triangular opening, to stare at the mountains, a darker shade of black against a starry sky. A breeze, sharp with winter's chill, stroked his cheeks and rifled his unkempt hair. He closed his eyes and inhaled, deep, slow, until the pitiful amount of lyrium finally took effect, until the fears calmed and the nightmarish ideas crept back into the shadows, until the only sensation across his skin was the cleansing breeze pushing at the hairs on his chest and arms.
More than anything, it was the fresh, cold, moving air that cleared his mind, allowing him to think objectively once more. It was only a part of the withdrawal process, he told himself. This paranoia. This obsessing. This anxiety. All those dark thoughts were unfounded. Slowly he opened his eyes, forcing himself to feel calm. He wasn't cursed. The mages were not going to revolt right there in the middle of Haven. The Herald was going to use their help to close the Breach. Today. And he and his templars—few as they were—would be on hand just in case.
Just because he knew he suffered paranoia, didn't mean that there weren't things to be concerned about. If he'd learned anything after all the tragedies he'd survived, it was to be prepared for anything. Have control of the situation from the start, have contingency plans in place for every foreseeable problem, and he could stay in control no matter what happened.
That's what he kept telling himself.
He closed the tent flap with a flick of his wrist and started to get ready for the day. This time when his fingers scrubbed his face, he noticed the stubble. Despite, or because of, the importance of the day, he would not be shaving. There was too much work to do; he wouldn't have the time.
"Again!"
Krem lifted his sword and shouted a challenge, running at Bull full speed. The qunari swung his own sword in a perfect arc, catching Krem's sword, the two pieces of steel ringing and sparking on contact. A trio of mages passed by, heading towards the group that was beginning to gather near the stables. Krem snapped his eyes to the side, watching them, a look of longing flickering over his face. Bull took advantage of Krem's inattention and forced his sword to move, staying behind it, making it spin and twirl and finally bend his arm too far. With a cry Krem dropped his weapon down onto the snow, rather than risk breaking his arm.
"No good," Bull groused at him. "Pick it up and we'll try again."
"Ah, come on, chief," Krem pleaded. "It's too hard to concentrate today, you know, what with the business planned up at the Breach and all."
"Precisely why we're practicing," he countered, "You think I'd let an opportunity like this slip by? You've got to learn to keep your focus, no matter what is happening around you. Be aware of others, but don't let them distract you."
"You could always feint to his blind side," a new voice droned, "Then go low. He leaves himself open every time."
Bull spun to face the newcomer, blowing an exasperated breath out through his nose. "Well, what do you expect, Commander? It is my blind side, after all." Krem thought to take advantage of his distraction and swung at his back. He didn't turn around, but swept his sword behind him, once again blocking Krem's attack. After the ringing and reverberations stopped, he looked over his shoulder and smiled proudly. "Now you're getting the idea."
Krem backed up a step and straightened his shoulders, smiling.
"Oh, go on and change so you can go to the Breach to watch; you've earned the time off." He waited until Krem, smiling even larger now, raced off towards his tent. Then he focused his one eye on Cullen, pinning him to the spot before he could get away. "Something on your mind?"
"Er, no," Cullen denied, "I was just passing by, when I saw an opportunity to assist. I trust you didn't mind the interruption."
"Nah," Bull waved it aside, "I've got big feet, so when my toes get stepped on, there's still plenty that isn't sore. But since you're here, there is something I'd like to talk with you about."
"Actually, I only stopped for a moment out of professional curiosity, you understand. I was on my way elsewhere…" Cullen hedged, gesturing towards the chantry. He felt uneasy around the qunari; memories of Kirkwall came far too easily to mind this morning.
"It'll only take a minute. I could even walk with you, so you don't lose any time."
Backed into a corner, he gave in gracefully, "Very well."
As they headed through Haven's main gate, Bull fell into step beside Cullen, matching the shorter man's stride. "Do I really leave myself that far open?"
If Cullen was surprised by the question, he didn't show it. "Yes, it's something I've been noticing whenever you spar with one of your men. On your left, and low down, probably in line with your nose."
Bull huffed, scratching beneath the strap that kept the patch over his empty eye socket. "So, that's how it got me…"
"Beg your pardon?" Cullen asked, not so much curious as acting polite.
"Oh, the dragon the other day. Been trying to figure out how the damn thing got the drop on me. I remember getting hit from the left, down low, just like you said; it swept my feet right out from underneath me. Would've been killed, too, if it hadn't been for that Vint's magic." He laughed, a good-natured, in-the-moment type of sound. "Just goes to show, never underestimate your opponent, even a tired, crippled, old dragon."
"How do you underestimate a dragon?" All right, fine, perhaps he was a little curious. The story Varric told had been embellished a thousandfold, he was sure; getting a more realistic version from Bull would be refreshing.
"Like I said," Bull shrugged, unapologetic for his lapse in estimation, "It was old. Crippled so bad it couldn't fly. Half blind with cataracts. Its fire breath was no better than an asthmatic wheeze. It really wasn't worth it, killing the damn thing, other than putting it out of its misery. Oh, and Peredura, of course."
"Peredura?" This wasn't clearing matters up at all. The more Bull explained, the more lost Cullen became.
"Yeah, poor kid," he sighed, "She was so… I don't know… upset or distraught or something?… after her little jaunt into the future. I know she didn't tell us all that happened, but I can respect her wanting to keep some secrets. Still, she was edgy afterwards, antsy. She wanted to do something fun, like a reward, and remembered I had asked once about dragons around here. Well, truthfully," he stopped just short of Threnn's supply tent and leaned in closer to Cullen, "I had already looked into it. You see, on our way back from Redcliffe the first time, Solas heard about a dragon to the east. So, on our way to Redcliffe the second time, I did a little checking. Found out it was an old and crippled dragon, not much sport, so I figured I wouldn't bring it up. Not worth it, you know?"
"Oh, of course," Cullen deadpanned. At least, Bull thought he was playing along; he supposed the Commander could be serious.
"Anyway, after all the shit landed and the mages were squared away, Peredura wanted a dragon hunt so badly, and I already knew the dragon was mostly harmless, so I figured it wouldn't hurt." He chuckled again, his one eye lighting up with the memory. "Should've seen her! Dorian had her hunkered down behind a large boulder, and protected her at all times with that magic barrier. She was so far from the fight, her arrows didn't land anywhere near us! But she didn't notice, or maybe she didn't care. Ah, what a natural! She was issuing orders to the rest of us, warnings, ideas—kept her head like a champ! If it wasn't for that one lucky swipe…" he rubbed his patch again. "Bah, doesn't matter. The main thing is, she was never in any danger, and she got to feel important. Alive. Capable. So proud of herself and her abilities. But, ah," he leaned in close once more, "Don't tell her so. I mean, that the dragon was such a pushover. Might ruin her moment, you know?"
"Right," Cullen agreed automatically, "Wouldn't want her to feel the worse for it, would we…" Which is exactly what he had done, he realized. He quickly searched for another topic of conversation. "Er, what was it you wanted to talk about, anyway?"
"Oh, just wondering if it would be all right for me and my Chargers to accompany Peredura to the Breach. Krem's going anyway; could never keep him from missing a good show. But it'd be nice, and I'd feel a lot better, if I was there, too, to keep an eye on the Boss."
"Yes, why not?" Cullen sighed, "The more, the merrier."
Bull laughed, "Ha, ha, good! I'll go tell the men. Horn's up!" He slapped the Commander on the shoulder, hard, enough that he had to take half a step forward or risk ending up face first in a small snowdrift.
Cullen turned and watched him go, rubbing his arm and feeling the sting from the slap through his armor. Briefly he wondered if that truly was what Bull had wanted to ask him, as such a matter seemed better brought up with Peredura herself. He shook his head and set it aside, focusing on more practical matters. It had been an impulsive decision, allowing the Chargers to accompany them, but he didn't regret it. There were literally hundreds of mages coming with them to the Breach, and with no way of telling how many of those mages could be hiding blood magic or demons or other abominations… Well, the more fighters he had on their side—should anything go wrong—the better. And Bull had already proven he held more loyalty towards her than the Inquisition in general, the day he stood beside her, prepared to defend her as she told them all the truth about her past. Cullen was reasonably sure that Bull would protect Peredura with his dying breath.
Speaking of which, he was supposed to be meeting her and the other advisors in front of the chantry. He turned back and finished walking up the last few steps.
Peredura was already there, her honor guard in tow, her helmet—surprisingly, for once—dangling from one hand. She looked calm and fresh, like a young sapling growing in the shelter of a primeval forest, her long brown hair carefully pulled back to cover her ears, yet allowing part of her face to show. She was speaking with Solas, nodding her head, her brown eyes clear and focused. They were probably going over some last minute details, though how Solas knew so much about using the mark escaped Cullen. At least his theories proved useful, so far.
As he neared, he saw Solas give him a nod in greeting. Peredura turned, probably only out of curiosity to see who was approaching, for as soon as her eyes found his, she turned away again. No hesitation. No flicker of that shy smile. If anything, she seemed to face a little further away from him, as far as she could get without appearing rude towards Solas.
That, and her free hand impulsively found the dagger at her waist.
Yes, even he could tell he had hurt her feelings regarding the dragon. He cleared his throat as he drew near, not wishing to interrupt but knowing he should. He needed to apologize. It was the proper thing to do. And, giving a sly glance for Dorian and finding him absent, he wasn't to be sidetracked this time.
"…might feel a little strange, as hundreds of mages focus their power through you. Ah, Commander Cullen, we were just going over what Peredura should expect. Do you have anything to add?"
He looked to her, but she only offered him her profile, a scarred cheek half hidden behind overgrown bangs that were too short to be caught in her ponytail. "Only that Iron Bull and his Chargers will be joining us. No doubt he will wish to stay near you. That should offer you some comfort."
She swallowed before answering, "It does."
Solas sensed the awkwardness between them, but wisely decided to leave it be. "Well, the only other thing I have to add is this: I don't know what blood magic feels like, either as the mage or the one giving the blood. But I imagine what we are about to attempt might feel a bit like that, power coming from outside you, and within, combining, growing stronger than you've ever experienced. If you feel uncomfortable with this at any time, tell me, and we'll stop."
Her eyes had grown a little wider at the mention of blood magic, but she resolutely held her ground. "Don't worry, Solas. This needs to be done. I'm no stranger to discomfort."
"I don't mean the physical kind, though that could occur. I mean the emotional discomfort, of being reminded of something extremely unpleasant from your past." He set his hand on her shoulder. "It is important to close the Breach, yes, but you are also important. It will do us no good, to succeed in the one, only to lose the second."
She nodded, but even Cullen could see she was steeling her mind against the unknowable unpleasantness to come, her hand compulsively groping at the hilt of her dagger. She wasn't going to back down, no matter what happened.
"Yes, well, I should get going. I am to travel with Enchanter Vivienne and the other mages, being a mage myself, apostate or no. But I will see you there; I'll be right beside you the whole time." He touched her cheek, the scarred one, much like a father would, but with a sad sort of smile on his face, before he turned and walked away.
After he left, Peredura still didn't turn to face Cullen. Instead she stuffed her helmet on her head and began toying with the ties for the cheek guards.
"We don't have to go quite yet," he offered. "The mages are making the journey ahead of us, so we should allow extra time for them to travel there and get into position. You might be more comfortable while we wait, and better able to breathe, if you weren't wearing your helmet."
"I'll be fine," she answered, a hard edge to a voice that begged to crack with anxiety. But she allowed the cheek guards to dangle freely. "I'm still not used to how cold it is in the south."
He didn't know if the cold she referred to meant the weather, or the people. Or both. Peredura was not the same shy, unassuming girl she had been before the dragon hunt. Or had it been that dreadful trip to the future? Or even before, when she had to stand there and confess to being a Tevinter slave, perhaps that had been the event that started the change. However it occurred, the fact remained that she had been growing more sophisticated, in her vocabulary as well as her actions; she could also be developing a sense of sarcasm and a biting wit, especially considering all the time she spent with Varric. He squared his shoulders and faced her, mentally girding his loins for what could become a very unpleasant—though necessary—task. "Peredura, may I talk with you?"
She started at his words, and turned to face him fully, presenting an expression that was unexpected. Her lips were parted, he could tell that much with her cheek guards open, and what he could see of her cheeks was tinged a delicate pink beneath her scars, probably due to the chill. But it was her large doe eyes that captivated him, full of so many emotions he couldn't name them all. It was a complete about-face from her coolness of a moment before, and he had no idea what he had done or said this time that caused such a colossal reaction. It rattled him.
"Er, that is, if you wouldn't mind…"
"No!" she answered, too quickly and too eagerly, and he could see her give a little nip to her lip, "I mean, um, I suppose you have some last minute instructions, don't wander off, stay near The Iron Bull, watch out for falling rocks, and the like." It was an attempt at humor, he hoped it was anyway—otherwise she truly did look at him as being overbearing, overprotective, and authoritarian. He grudgingly admitted she had reasons to do so. He studied what he could see of her face, trying to determine what she meant. Her words trailed off underneath his scrutiny, and her cheeks left pink behind to turn bright red. She was joking. Good. That was a good sign, wasn't it, he asked himself.
"That, too," he allowed, hoping he sounded lighthearted for once. Then he grew serious, "But I, er, wanted to, that is, I feel I should, ah, say, something…" This time his words faded into nothingness. Not like he was making himself clear, anyway, but he should at least try to sound intelligent. One of the templars escorting Peredura shifted his feet, and Cullen was reminded things weren't so private. "Let's step over this way, shall we?" He didn't wait for an answer, but took her elbow and steered her a little bit away from her guard. When they made to follow, one glare from Cullen was enough to make them change their minds.
Peredura felt her heart racing, wondering why he wanted a private moment with her. She was confused by his demeanor changing so swiftly, courteous, flustered, commanding, even humorous? But… he had said her name, and there'd been a tiny flutter in her chest, something that reminded her of what Sera had once tried to describe; 'tinnnnngggghhhhllllyyyyy.'
Could this be, she wondered. Dorian had said it might take time, but could this be the heretofore unknown 'feelings for someone' she had been hearing so much about? And for Cullen? Her heart did another little flip-flop at the thought. He had the potential, she knew, to develop feelings for her; could she be developing feelings for him as a result of something his future self might now never do…? It was confusing, especially as she was doing everything she could to keep that future from happening. She couldn't help but hope, however, that maybe, just maybe, that one little part of the forbidden fate could come to be. She let out a small sigh of regret when his hand left her elbow.
Cullen had no idea what was going through her head, and would have blushed as deep a red as she if he did know. Instead he was mired within his own internal struggle, knowing he should apologize, but having no idea where to start. Bull had mentioned he didn't think she knew the dragon wasn't so dangerous, so he couldn't start with that and ruin the feeling of accomplishment she'd tried so hard to gain… Oh, Maker's breath, this was awkward. Secrets and lies and half-truths. Why couldn't he simply come out and say the words he wanted to say?
"I, er, I know you're mad at me, and you have every right. I overreacted. Regarding the dragon…"
"Well, it WAS a dragon…"
"But I've spoken with Bull…"
"He made me stay back out of the fight…"
"Yes, and Dorian kept you very well protected…"
"You couldn't have known that…"
"Will you let me apologize?!"
She blinked her large, warmhearted brown eyes, momentarily startled into silence by his timid explosion. It didn't last long, as she licked her lips and replied, "Apology accepted."
"But I… that wasn't… I just… bah!" He let loose a heavy exhale and closed his eyes, missing her reaction. She had smelled the faint sweetness of lyrium on his breath, and it brought back to mind memories that were irrevocably linked to that scent. She took another breath, slowly through her nostrils, the cold air fresh and cleansing. By the time he opened his eyes again, she was back in control of herself.
"Thank you, Madam Herald."
She could only feel sadness at his statement. Formal, in words and tone and manner, pushing her away once more. She inclined her head, not trusting herself to keep the disappointment from her voice, and fidgeted with the dagger at her waist.
Cullen's eyes followed the movement, always tracking and ever alert for danger. His hazel gaze grew hard as he was finally close enough to get a good look at the weapon. "Is that blood on your dagger? Have you had to use it to protect yourself this morning? What happened? You there, guards!"
"No," she said, gripping his arm, shaking her head at the guards, hoping to keep this moment private, what little she could at any rate. "No, please, nothing happened this morning."
The guards hesitated, and Cullen gestured for them to stop. He didn't let Peredura off the hook so easily. "You're not saying that, trying to protect anyone, are you?" he asked, his suspicious mind instantly zeroing in on Dorian. He shifted and drew on the minimal power within him, as if the mage was standing right there, preparing himself to fight. Earlier he hadn't seen Dorian—who should be with the other mages—but there were plenty of bushes nearby, the tree line just beyond, with shadows and trunks thick enough to conceal…
"No, I'm not. Believe me. It was…" she briefly closed her eyes, not wanting to remember, not wanting to tell, but she had little choice. Dropping her face, staring at the folds where the front of Cullen's mantle closed over his breastplate, she answered, "It was from… that last trip… to Redcliffe…"
He stared at the top of her helmet for a moment longer, his expression as unreadable as his eyes, but he signaled the guards to return to their former positions. In his mind, there was very little that could excuse not taking care of one's weapon, something as grave to him as an unforgivable sin. He brought a gloved finger upwards to touch the tip of her chin and encouraged her to raise her face. He would have the truth of it. "What happened, Peredura?"
Again he unknowingly used her name, causing that strange reaction, those beautiful eyes to widen and her dark brown brows to curve. Her lip tried to hide between her teeth, but his hand was still nearby. His fingertip to her chin, it felt only natural for the pad of his thumb to curl around and pull her lip free. Too bad he was wearing gloves; it would have been gentler if the touch were skin on skin…
His took his hand away before she could notice the shaking. "You, ah, only spoke of it the one time," he forced himself to return to the subject at hand, "Without going into any details. Yet it is obvious, Peredura, that something is amiss, perhaps something you're having trouble letting go, if you find you cannot clean your weapon. What is it?"
She wanted to turn away, but was held captive by her own self. That tingly sensation ran through her at the sound of her name, leaving her feeling warm inside, while the horror of that abhorrent future closed down on her, leaving her gripping her arms for warmth. She opened her mouth, thinking she should answer, having no idea what she would say, and merely gaped like a fish.
"Peredura?"
Damn him, but he sounded so much like that future Cullen, calling for her, unsure that she was truly there. The words came unbidden, of their own volition, tumbling off her tongue. "When Dorian and I were in the future, we learned what had happened to the Inquisition. What everyone's fates were. It was… unpleasant."
"I can imagine," he agreed, thinking he should probably act sympathetic, encouraging her to continue.
"No," she shook her head, her eyes trying to grow wider, as if having more space would allow them to hold more unshed tears. "No, you can't imagine."
She took a swallow and stepped away, just a pace, just to give herself space to breathe. "So many were dead, but those that were alive weren't much better off. The Iron Bull and Varric and Solas were there, in the dungeon; they'd been force-fed red lyrium for months—a whole year, I think it was. And Leliana was in another part of the dungeon. She'd been given the Blight, and they were experimenting on her, torturing her, but she was still able to fight. All four of them died, buying us time with their lives, so Dorian and I could come back and fix everything.
"But others had died before them," she continued, unable to stop, feeling compelled to get it all out now that she had finally started. "Blackwall had managed to escape Redcliffe Castle, and made it back to Haven where he joined Josephine. He was trying to get her to Antiva when the demon army caught up with them. Josephine died during the fight, and Blackwall of his wounds shortly after reaching the dungeon. Vivienne was dead, too, killed by her own fire spell when she took out a cell full of guards. Cassandra was in the cell across from her; she got caught by the spell and died, too. And Sera… she… her neck was snapped… when the guards tried to… The Iron Bull wouldn't say it… but I know what he meant…"
Cullen listened to it all, stoically. It was hard, hearing how their fates might have turned out, if it wasn't for Peredura. But she wasn't dead, and the Inquisition was alive and well, and they had the mages on their side. "But after today," he tried to reason with her, "After the Breach is sealed, that other future can never be. You know that, don't you?"
She nodded, her hand grabbing the hilt of her dagger. With her face turned away, he couldn't be sure, but he suspected she was once more chewing her lip. Someone should break her of that habit. He could break her of that habit, give her lip something more interesting to do, catch it between his teeth for a change and…
NO! he thought to himself. It was merely the obsession once more, stealing his reason and tainting his motives. There was nothing between himself and Peredura, except duty. He pushed the visions to the back of his mind, and refocused his attention on her. He wasn't so addled by withdrawal that he had missed what she had said, or hadn't said, a moment ago. "You left someone out, didn't you?"
She shook her head. "Please… no…"
"I admit, it sounds like a bleak future," he continued, "And the others' fates are not to be envied, but I have to know, Peredura, I must know: whose blood is on that dagger? Why won't you clean it? Tell me!"
She trembled again at his command, like a brown-tinted autumn leaf about to drop from the branch. "I won't clean it, I won't remove the blood, I won't let myself forget the blood I've spilled, not until I have assured that the other future won't happen. I promised. To myself. Because… it's your blood," she ended in a whisper. When there was no immediate uproar or denial, she grew a little more encouraged. Also, it was much easier, talking to the snowbank. She didn't have to see his face, didn't have to watch the fear and horror take over his strong and confident features. "You'd evaded capture for months, led the templars in a revolt, but you and your men ran out of lyrium, the right kind. It was inevitable, that you'd be overwhelmed and captured. You were put in the cell across from The Iron Bull, and force fed red lyrium, too. Only…"
She paused and again he could imagine that lip, being tortured by her teeth. Maker's breath, but why did that vision come to mind so easily? And why did it make him feel? He should be aghast over the horror she was describing of what he had become, but all he could think about was the comfort he should offer her.
"The Iron Bull thought, because you'd been a templar, your body was more used to lyrium. It didn't take long, for the changes, to take over. In the few months that you were there, your arm… your leg… your chest…"
She could not force her words. He could not force himself to speak.
"About half your body was already gone, but the lyrium wouldn't let you die. It kept you alive, even while it… killed you. It was slow. And painful. And you asked me… begged me… to end it…"
Silence filled the air behind her. It was heavy, palpable, suffocating, pressing against her bodily, urging her to turn. Yet she remained immobile. Somehow, though she knew it was childish, she clung to the idea that if she didn't turn around, if she didn't find him standing there, if she didn't see his reaction, then he would remain ignorant of the terrible future that might have awaited him, would have awaited him.
At last there was a sound behind her, breaking into her thoughts, making her pick her ears up to listen. It wasn't the painful sobs of lament, nor the maddening cries of denial, but the tender sigh of empathy. "Peredura."
Again her name sounded like a prayer upon his lips.
"Peredura," he repeated, setting a hand on her shoulder. When he tugged, she didn't resist, her body moving to face his.
"Peredura, I understand. I do," he pressed, when it looked like she might shake her head. Swallowing hard, hating the cost, he continued, trying to keep it as impersonal as possible, "I know what it's like, to have to take the life of a friend, to end their suffering. I've had to do the same thing. The circle in Ferelden that I… where I became a templar, when it fell, there was a friend of mine, a fellow templar, she…"
His words simply stopped.
Timidly her eyes lifted upwards, still swimming in tears, but he was not looking at her, his eyes a hundred miles away. "What happened?"
He came back to himself and shook his head, unable to give it voice. "The circle fell. That's all I can say. But my friend was dying, slowly, painfully, and I ended her suffering. I took her life. So I know how you feel. I know the doubt, the second-guessing, the guilt. I still wonder to this day, if I did the right thing, if she hated me for taking her life, or if she understood. Peredura, I can give you the peace of mind I've been denied. I know what that other me must have gone through. I do know," he affirmed when she started shaking her head. He pushed aside the memory of his former Knight-Commander, Meredith and continued, "I've seen what red lyrium can do to a person, to a templar. You did the right thing. And on behalf of that other Cullen, I thank you."
At long last the dam broke. Tears flooded her cheeks, falling like a torrent between helmet and skin, to soak the lining. Her thin body shook, nearly convulsing with the force of her sobs. He grabbed her, mostly to keep her from pitching into the snow, but also because he knew it was expected of him. He had just expunged her of guilt, for having taken/will take his life in his future which was now a part of her past, or something like that. Regardless, the tears were a good thing, or so he told himself, but since he'd helped cause them, he knew he should remain at her side and weather the storm, as it were.
He awkwardly put his hands on her back, and allowed her to rest against his breastplate.
Peredura couldn't have said exactly why she was crying so hard; there were too many reasons, to many impressions that couldn't be put into words. She wept for the Cullen whose life she took. She wept for the Cullen who didn't love her, at least possibly not quite yet. She wept for the future that would never be, while praying for the future that may be. She wept for her friends who'd died in the future, but hadn't died yet in the present. She wept for herself, lost and adrift in a new world—a new life—that despite its hardships and dangers and far-reaching significance was still infinitely preferable to her old life.
Damn it, she wept because she'd stubbed her toe that morning and it was still hurting!
Something was pressed against the skin of her face, wedging in between her and the cold metal of his armor. It was right under her nose, and though stuffy her nose was clear enough to smell the delicate scent of lilacs. She sniffed, the scent growing stronger as her nose began to unclog, and brought a hand to her face.
Cullen removed his hand, once he was sure Peredura had a good grip on the handkerchief, and leaned her away from him. Then he stood, silent and strong, while she fixed herself. Slowly the sobs eased into sniffles, the sniffles into shuddering breaths, the breaths into a rather wimpy rude noise, muffled by the handkerchief. "Feeling better?" he asked.
She nodded, holding the handkerchief in front of her face, staring at it. Hesitantly she offered it back to him, even soiled, thinking she wouldn't have the time to clean it like she did before.
"You might as well keep the bloody thing; you know I've got plenty. And no doubt you'll use it more than I ever will."
A timid smile pulled up one corner of her mouth. "Thank you," she whispered, stuffing it into her jacket.
"Madam Herald," Leliana's voice called, "We're ready whenever you are."
Peredura glanced around Cullen to see them standing there, Cassandra and Leliana and Josephine, Bull and his Chargers just behind, all ready to accompany her and witness her success. She shook her head, ducking back behind Cullen's broad shoulders to whisper, "No, I'm not ready, I must look a mess, they'll know I've been crying…"
"Here," he offered, pulling her cheek guards closed and securing the ties. "This will hide all your sins. Now you look confident and capable, ready to close a Breach!"
She nodded, a lot more sober than he would have liked, but her eyes were clear and bright and—most importantly—without tears. "We should probably get going. Though it's not like they can start without me."
Yes, she was developing a sense of humor. Though he found it comforting, he idly wondered if it might cause trouble some day. "Madam Herald," he gestured for her to take the lead. A brief flicker of sadness crossed those eyes. A moment later and her hand found the hilt of the dagger, as if seeking comfort from the bloody reminder of a future that must never be. He put his hand over hers, "Let me hold that for you."
She hesitated, but only for a moment. Her other hand fumbled at her waist, undoing the buckle, before she passed the dagger over, sheath and belt and all. Then she turned and started her journey up the mountain, to the ruins of the temple, to where she would seal her fate, and the fate of the world.
Why did things always go wrong wherever she was concerned? Peredura asked herself rhetorically as she stared across at Commander Cullen.
The Breach had been closed, mages and templars and refugees celebrating together, everyone feeling hope that at last things would turn out. Yet it was merely the calm before the storm…
A demon horde, just like the one in the future that she had tried so hard to change.
An army full of former templars infected with red lyrium, though not as fully infected as Cullen had been.
An ancient abomination calling himself the Elder One, an arch demon in tow.
A strange boy who should be so remarkable and yet seemed so easy to overlook.
And now Cullen suggesting mass suicide.
"We're dying," he argued his case, "But we can decide how. Many don't get that chance." His voice grew quiet towards the end, full of emotion, of painful experience, of eternal regret.
Peredura shook her head. "You're suggesting we bury the Elder One and his arch demon beneath an avalanche, and all of Haven with him! No, Commander, I can't do that. I won't! There must be another way…"
"Yes," a gentle voice spoke up, "Yes, that. Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to tell you, before he dies."
Peredura eagerly turned towards Chancellor Roderick, but Cullen spoke first. "I thought I told you to take him to the healers."
"No, there's no time," Roderick waved the offer aside. "I must tell you about this." Quickly he explained about the hidden pathway he had found, overgrown and overlooked, during a summer pilgrimage. "This could be more than mere accident. You," he turned to look Peredura full in the face, "Could be more…"
Peredura walked up to him, hope shining in her eyes, not for her, but for the others, and for Roderick. If someone like him could change his mind and soften his heart and believe—believe in her, believe in the Inquisition… "He needs to get to a healer, or he'll never make it." She was looking at Roderick, but her statement was addressed to Cullen.
Roderick was already shaking his head, but Cullen answered for him. "It's too late now. If he takes the time, the rest of us won't have a chance to make it out of here alive. He knows what he's doing, Peredura. His life, for all of ours."
She nodded, once, but her eyes were like ancient wood, weathered and worn and enduring, when she looked up at Cullen. "His won't be the only sacrifice."
"No…" he moaned, softly, his hand reaching out to grab her arm before she could slip away. "We can get out of here through the passage Chancellor Roderick mentioned. All of us."
"You heard what Cole said," she referred to the quiet, pale boy who was helping Roderick to his feet. "The Elder One wants me. He'll go through everyone else to get to me. If I flee with you, he'll only pursue and I'll continue to put you all in danger. We have to stop him. Here. Now. Tonight. I have to stop him. I'll stay behind, distract him, while you lead the others to safety. Then I'll use the trebuchets to bury him and Haven." She lifted her arm free from his shock-frozen fingers, a rueful smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, barely visible within her opened cheek guards. "At least I waited, to risk my neck, until after the Breach was sealed."
He hesitated, extremely out of character for the Commander of the Inquisition's forces. But then again, he had been surprising her a lot today. "This isn't at all what I meant…"
She swallowed, "I know."
He inclined his head; she had made her choice, and he would respect it. And he had a job to do, too. He stalked away, giving orders with an authoritative tone, gesturing and signaling as he went. "Inquisition, follow Chancellor Roderick through the chantry. Move!"
As Roderick limped towards the back of the chantry, supported by Cole's shoulders, he paused to say to her, "I'll… pray for you… Peredura…"
She wanted to let her eyes fill with tears, but she couldn't afford the wasted time or effort. They were joined now, she and Roderick, in their dual sacrifice. More importantly, he was willing to accept her; better late than never, especially if his prayers held any weight with the Maker. "Thank you, Chancellor. I appreciate it."
Cullen came back as Roderick went away, Abbets and Devensport dogging his heels. As he slowed to talk with her, they continued out the main door, running as fast as they could. "These two are to load the trebuchets, but it will be up to you to fire them."
"Understood," she agreed. "I'll send them after you, when the trebuchets are armed."
Cullen nodded, unsurprised that she would not keep the two former templars with her, wishing to save everyone possible. "You must keep the Elder One's attention until we're above the tree line. I'll try to signal when we're safe. Peredura, if we are to have a chance," he paused, wanting to take back his words, rephrase them to hold more meaning. "If YOU are to have a chance, make as much noise as you can. Let that thing hear you!" He handed back her dagger, the one he'd taken from her that morning. "And try, for all our sakes… perhaps surprise it somehow? You're certainly good at surprising people."
She wanted to smile at that, but again there was no time.
"You're not going to a fight without me, Boss," Bull lumbered up with his greataxe balanced on one shoulder.
"Or I," added Dorian, coming up on Cullen's other side.
Peredura felt she should order them away, but truthfully she needed the companionship. "All right, but you'll follow my orders, both of you. If I tell you to run, then run. Understood?" She got a vehement nod from Dorian, and a reluctant shrug from Bull. "Very well. You have your orders, too, Commander."
"Yes, Ser!" he gave her a smart salute. It was safer, acting professional and militant, than allowing himself to look too deeply into those other actions he wanted to take. He spun on his heel and helped the last of the stragglers along, not daring even once to look behind him.