Besieged Heart

by Chalybeous

He once came charging to her rescue, like a gallant knight, saving her from certain death. And now, after all the heartaches and lies, she prays he can save her again. Just a bit of dribbling, angst-filled sappiness that's been rattling around in my brainpan since playing DA: Inquisition. Feeling the need to write a Cullen-knight-in-shining-armor fic. Some smut later on.

23. The Fight

A/N: Can you feel it? Can you feel it coming? Oh, yeah, I can. Here it comes…

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Fight

"You've been quiet," Peredura hummed softly, her words barely discernible over the sounds their horses were making, "Ever since we left the Shrine of Dumat."

Cullen didn't answer, didn't even look up from his study of his horse's mane.

Peredura's eyes narrowed slightly, a dangerous look and one he could have easily noted—if he would only look at her. But he was lost within his thoughts, quiet and brooding. And she grew determined to snap him out of it; after all, he would, and had done, the same for her. Squelching a mischievous tug at the corner of her mouth, she pressed, "So, um, you'll wear it then?"

"Wear what?" he answered automatically, his preoccupied brain seizing on only a word or two of hers and repeating them, a poor imitation of having a conversation.

"The orange dress with the pink polkadots. Vivienne said it would be very fetching on you, with your coloring and all."

"Oh, oh, of course, Inquisitor," he nodded absently, "As soon as we get back to Skyhold."

She made a noise of disgust, confirming that he hadn't truly heard a word she'd said. Deciding to try a different tactic, she looked around to make sure they were alone. Bull was off somewhere, far out of sight, scouting the way home back to Skyhold. And Dorian had pulled his horse out ahead of them, no doubt eager to return to the fresh cooked meals and modern conveniences of the fortress. Assured they wouldn't get caught, she leaned across her horse's neck and close to Cullen's face. "Commander!"

"Yes, ser, Inquisitor!" He snapped to attention in his saddle, turning his face towards her, alert and focused at last.

And she kissed him.

It was a loud smack, wet and messy as their horses were moving out of sync and her aim was off, but it worked. He pulled back in surprise, then embarrassment, his face bursting out a bright red from his collar to his hairline. Maybe a bit under his hair, too, she noted, peeking between the strands. She let him stew and sputter for a moment, enjoying having flustered him for once, before she turned serious once more.

"Do I have your attention now?"

"I… of course… Pere… what was that for…?"

She sighed and pulled her horse to a stop, Cullen following her lead and doing the same. She kneed and nudged her mount around so she could face Cullen, their steeds side-by-side, her thigh pressed up against his. "I've been trying to talk with you for the past three miles, but you haven't heard a word I've said."

Again he blinked his hazel eyes, misty with confusion, "I… but I… you said… er…"

"Don't deny it, Cullen. Not after you've just promised to put on a dress as soon as we get back to Skyhold."

"What!? I'd never… that… couldn't have… you're joking…"

She shrugged, throwing in an unconcerned eye roll, and left him to stew over the thought. "At any rate, I trust I have your attention now?"

The blush had faded a bit—just a bit—and looked quite handsome on his sheepish features. "I suppose I have been a bit… preoccupied."

"That's one word for it," she gave him a little smile. She opened her mouth as if to say more, and so did he, and both quickly stopped their words in favor of the other. And both saw that they had stopped for the other. It was an awkwardly tender moment, punctuated by their breathy, half-embarrassed laughs, but it was interrupted before it could be resolved.

"Hey, Boss! You gotta come see this…" Bull's voice called out, effectively ending any further conversation. Peredura gave a guilty start, seeing as she was still holding Cullen's hand, but covered it by turning her mount around to face the direction Bull was calling from. Dorian, thankfully, was still far enough ahead to have missed their exchange, but he too was turning his horse and heading in the new direction.

"This can't be good," mumbled a still pessimistic Cullen, and though Peredura continued to worry he was slipping back into his brown study, she did have to agree with him, however reluctantly. She clicked at her horse and brought up the rear, the three mounts tramping noisily through the brush and thin forest. They rounded an outcropping of rocks to find Bull standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, his feet braced shoulder-width apart, his good eye trained on the shallow valley before them.

There was nothing overly remarkable about the valley itself. The outer rim was ringed with sparse forest and rock outcroppings, much like where they were standing. The floor was wide and oval shaped, with one end a little narrower than the other. It was strewn with short shrub brush and scattered boulders, offering at the same time both ideal cover and, unfortunately, ideal kindling. As if to prove this point, there were scores of scorch marks all around, staining rocks and vegetation alike with black sootiness, telling her and the others quite plainly with what, exactly, they were dealing.

"Oh, lovely!" Dorian quipped, the false excitement in his voice oozing with sarcasm, "What a wonderful way to ruin a perfectly good day!"

"A dragon?" Cullen swallowed. "Maker's breath! What luck."

"I know, right?" Bull's voice was keen and bright and husky with anticipation. He turned around to face the others, his face broken wide open with an eager and exhilarated smile. He either completely missed Dorian's and Cullen's lack of enthusiasm, or chose to ignore them. "The Boss always has THE BEST luck in finding these things."

Samson and red templars and Cullen's dark mood were all forgotten in the face of a fresh—and very immediate—danger. Peredura dismounted her horse, absently handing Bull the reins as she studied the field of battle. The dragon was a good five hundred yards distant, nearer to the far side of the valley than it was to them. It was also fast asleep, curled into a tight ball, snout covered by its tail, a fresh pile of bones not far from its maw. She gave her lower lip a brief chew in worry, knowing this wasn't going to be easy. Then again, it never is, not for her, at any rate.

She sighed and turned back to the others, a slightly apologetic curve to her brows and tint to her cheeks. "I'm sorry, but…"

"I know," Cullen answered, not looking up, having already dismounted and tethered his horse to a somewhat sturdy-looking tree trunk. While she had been studying and debating the situation with herself, he had already been readying himself for battle. "As members of the Inquisition, it's our duty to secure the peace and safety of others." Finished adjusting his shield, he reached into one of his packs and pulled out his helmet, not the elaborate and ceremonial lion-head-shaped one, but a practical and sturdy helmet with a narrow slit to protect the eyes and guards that could close to cover the mouth. Then he looked up at her, his hazel eyes turning a soft and almost gentle brown, "I saw the pile of bones, too, the ones the dragon's been feasting on; there are human remains in there, children quite possibly, judging by the size of some of the skulls. We cannot suffer this monster to live, not while we're here, now, willing and able to kill it."

Dorian gave a long suffering sigh, mumbling as he dismounted, "First Bull, now the Commander. Must be something about warriors, always thirsting for blood."

Bull looked up from tying off Peredura's mount to another tree. "So, how do you wanna handle this?"

She turned back to the valley, and turned back to chewing her lip. "Truthfully, it's got the advantage over us. Sure there are plenty of boulders to hide behind, but there's also lots of shrubs for it to set on fire and flush us out of hiding. We're going to have to try a full frontal assault. The Iron Bull, you know what to do. Dorian," she started, tying the cheek guards closed of her own helmet as she doled out assignments, "You're going to have to stay back this time, out of the main part of the fight. Keep the rest of us covered with that magic protection spell of yours. Go it?"

"Yes, ser," he felt the urge to salute but stopped himself in time. Though of course he would have done anything she asked of him, privately he was extremely grateful that she had ordered him to stay back.

"Cullen, I want you to go in after The Iron Bull, but not right away. Let him charge in first, draw the dragon's attention. Once it's fully engaged with him, that's when I want you to come in from the side, flank the creature, and attack its legs. It'll turn it's attention on you then, but that's what we want. Use your shield, keep your head, and keep its attention; that'll allow The Iron Bull to strike at its neck and belly. Those scales are softer, but still hard enough; it'll take time to wear through them. Just keep at it, taking turns distracting it, and eventually one of you will strike something vulnerable."

"And what will you do?" Cullen couldn't stop himself from asking. Though as a soldier he had been trained to follow orders, and he would follow her orders, as a man he loved her and didn't want to see her come to harm.

"I'll stay back, find cover," she assured him, stringing her bow, "Protect Dorian's arse as well as harass the dragon from afar. Maybe I can get one or two lucky shots in and blind it; that'll keep it from flying away on us. Otherwise, well," she shrugged, "It's gonna be a long afternoon, gentlemen. I suggest we get started."

"On it, Boss," Bull nodded.

"Just a moment," Cullen turned quickly back to his horse and began fumbling at the straps holding the packs in place behind his saddle.

"What are you doing?" Dorian asked, anxious about the upcoming battle and just wanting to get it done and over with, and Cullen's little delay at the last moment was doing absolutely nothing for his nerves!

"The horses, they might bolt, especially if this fight lasts as long as you predict," Cullen hefted down one back and lugged it over to the rock outcropping. "If they do, we wouldn't want them to run off with our packs, would we? Just in case we can't catch them after the fight."

The other three glanced at each other, exchanging blank looks, and then in the next moment rushed forward as one and began removing the rest of the packs.

The horses secure as best they could, the packs protected by the rocks, their armor checked and weapons readied, Peredura knew there was no more stalling. "Alright, you two, get moving. Dorian, we'll head on over that way, and hopefully draw its attention from our horses. Oh, one more thing," she turned back to grasp at Cullen's sleeve, her brown eyes serious and intense, "Stay away from its tail."

His honey-colored brows curved, but before he could ask for clarification, she had turned away to jog after Dorian. "It's… tail…?"

"Yeah," Bull grunted, starting off the other direction. "Trust me, that tail is murder. Remember that first dragon we fought, the old and crippled one?" he paused to laugh, remembering the fight himself, "Even with joints so swollen it could barely stand, that tail if its was strong enough to sweep me off my feet. Damn near broke my legs, if it hadn't been for Dorian's magical spell. Hey, that reminds me," Bull's left hand reached out, swallowed Cullen's right shoulder, and easily steered the other man to his left side. "Stay to this side of me, okay?"

"You're blind side?" Cullen asked. He looked up at the qunari and thought for a moment he might have been a bit insensitive, "Er, I mean…"

Bull chuckled, either missing or ignoring the tactlessness of the expression. "Exactly. I'd feel better, knowing there's someone I can trust on this side of me, where I can't see. But," Bull turned his head far enough to glare at Cullen around his eyepatch, "That doesn't mean I'm going to need a lot of protection or anything. I'm no damsel in distress. Just stay to this side, so I'll know where you are, and stay away…"

"Stay away from its tail, yes, yes," he finished, somewhat impatiently.

The two men hunched lower as they moved, closing in on the dragon and wanting as much cover from the scrub brush as possible. "Something bothering you, Commander?" Bull asked as they paused beside a boulder. His voice was low, quiet, a rumble of distant thunder.

"No, well, I mean, of course not, only that, it seems to me, well, not to sound overly full of myself, but…"

"Is there a point to this?" Bull sighed, eyeing the dragon warily. The massive chest was continuing to rise and fall in the slow, steady rhythm since they'd first spotted the creature. Bull hoped that meant it was still asleep. "Or do you simply like hearing yourself sputter?"

Cullen glared at the side of Bull's head, but of course the look wasn't noticed. "I know Peredura's fought dragons before, and she seems to have a good head on her shoulders, when it comes to tactical situations like these."

"She's a natural," Bull agreed, a teensy-weeny bit of fatherly pride slipping into his voice.

They started moving again, edging in even closer, their voices dropping in volume even more. "But, well, not to put myself forward or anything, and I'm not questioning your skills or abilities, it just seems to me," he hefted his shield, "that in this particular situation, I might be better suited to taking punishment than you are."

Bull gave a quiet chuckle, no insult felt. "You mean the tank, huh?"

"'Tank'?" Cullen repeated, a bit lost.

The qunari scratched at the side of his nose, adjusting the strap of his eyepatch. "Ah, it just means, the one in a fight that can go in and take a beating."

"That's what I'm getting at, yes," he agreed, nodding. They drew to the edge of the nest-like area the dragon had made for itself and knelt down to wait for Peredura's signal that she and Dorian were in place.

"But… I don't get it…" Bull looked over at him, "You are the tank."

Cullen shook his head. "No, the… 'tank,' as you put it, is the one who goes in first, distracts the beast, lets it beat on him, while the real danger comes up from behind and deals the deathblow. The typical one-two punch."

"One-two?" Now it was Bull's turn to be unfamiliar with terminology.

"In fisticuffs. You know," Cullen made a pair of fists, a bit awkward with the shield on his arm, and mimicked his words, "You feint with your right to draw your opponent's focus this way, then land with your left and knock him out. One. Two. In this case, Peredura has you as the tank, and me as the deathblow. One-two."

Bull smiled, "Ah, now I get it. But you don't." He turned back to keep his eye on the dragon. "I'm still the deathblow. Think of it as a one-two-three punch."

Again Cullen glared at him, and again he wasn't seen. "One-two-three?"

"Right, I go in first as the feint, drawing its attention, then you come up from the side as the bluff, making it think you're the deathblow. But then, when the dragon turns to you, I step in and kill it. One-two-three."

"That's…" Cullen's voice grew too loud, and Bull had to hush him with a gesture. Cullen dropped his face with his tone and tried again. "That's simply not how it's done," he insisted. "That's… unconventional."

"That's Peredura," Bull agreed.

He thought about it for a moment, and had to—reluctantly—agree that Bull was right. "Yes, it is, isn't it. Are they in position yet?" he looked across the back of Bull's broad shoulders, trying to spot where she and Dorian were among the brush and boulders.

"Nearly. Why don't you put that shiny shield of yours to good use, and signal her that we're ready. And I'll start gearing up for my sprint."

"Sprint?" Cullen carefully positioned his shield, catching the rays of the sun and reflecting them up the side of the hill to the general area where the other two were setting up. "Don't you mean sneak? It's still asleep. If you charge the beast, you'll wake it."

"Got to. See all those bones around it's nest," Bull gestured, "And further out, across the valley floor. Dragons have very sensitive hearing. I might be able to get, oh, within fifteen yards of that thing, before one of my big feet lands on a bone and snaps it. That's not nearly close enough for me to reach it, but it's more than close enough for it to reach me. Now, if I'm running," he shifted to his haunches, readying himself, "I'll be sure to hit a bone a lot sooner, but I'll also be moving a lot faster. Better chance of reaching that thing before it's fully awake and aware of what's coming. There's the signal," he nodded at the arrow arcing through the sky, some sort of spell of Dorian's making it glow red.

Cullen nodded. "Good fortune, Bull."

"Hey, thanks. You too, Commander," he acknowledged with the warmth of camaraderie. Then he leaned over a little too far and teased, "Wanna give me a kiss for good luck?"

Cullen fixed him with his best glare, "Move your arse, soldier."

Bull took off, his quiet chuckle fading away in the wake of his leaving.

Cullen waited—or did his best imitation of waiting. He kept himself still with an iron will, as Bull propelled himself towards the massive beast. He didn't flinch when the qunari's baritone voice rang out with a battle cry of something in qunlat. He did shift a little when the dragon stirred, awoken by the bellowing and the pounding of heavy feet. He felt his cry of warning burble up from his chest and into his throat before he could close off the airway and keep silent.

Damn, but Bull was courageously reckless.

—One—

He'd seen qunari fight before, in Kirkwall, against he and other templars. It had been a messy battle, a hard battle, as qunari didn't surrender except in death. Bull fought just has hard, impetuous, fearless, holding nothing back. He charged headfirst into battle, swinging that great battle axe of his, using it to block the dragon's blows as much as to strike at the softer scales of its underbelly. As for the fire breath, Bull dodged each fireball with agility one wouldn't expect from a man his size. It was impressive, the dance of a highly skilled warrior, a great master at arms.

And it was also Cullen's cue. The dragon was fully engaged—and enraged—with the qunari. Cullen used the distraction to run his own race, his frame not as massive as Bull's but just as heavy thanks to his armor and weapons. His pounding feet sent reverberations through the ground towards the dragon, alerting the beast to the approaching threat.

—Two—

The dragon turned, but not before Cullen landed three broad strokes at the back of the foreleg's knee joint. The dragon forgot about Bull, lifting the hurt limb out of Cullen's reach and rearing back it's head to bellow in anger and pain. Cullen had managed to draw blood, a shallow scratch between some of the scales, but it was enough to sting. And to get the beast to belch fire at him. He raised his shield and held his ground, waiting for the inevitable roasting inside his armor. But that never came.

Cullen felt Dorian's magic spell surround him, enveloping him in a bluish haze and causing gooseflesh to break out all across his skin—an odd sensation beneath his armor. He'd been trained to protect mages, he'd been tortured into hating them, and only recently he'd come to accept them. But, damn, he still didn't like the feel of magic, even if it was saving his ass.

No longer having to hide behind his shield, he poked his head out to get his bearings. Though it was hard to see through the fire that fell like hail around his body, he could tell there was nothing within easy reach of his sword. Bull, however, was now ignored and had a clean shot at the dragon's chest.

—Three—

That's what Bull had called it, anyway. The one-two-three punch. Easy. Simple. Yeah, right. Apparently somebody forgot to tell the dragon that this was where it was supposed to die. Bull's massive axe swung at the beast's chest, a tip catching for a moment beneath a scale, before the axe harmlessly bounced off and away and nearly ripped itself from Bull's hands. Cullen felt relief when the flames stopped falling across his shoulders, only to feel concern when the dragon turned its focus back to Bull. Seeing as he was momentarily ignored, however, he returned to trying to cut the tendons in the dragon's foreleg.

Nope, this wasn't going to be easy.

Peredura was having the same thought. She had known from the moment she realized there was a dragon nearby, that they would have to kill it. She had known from that very first moment, that she would have to send men she cared for into battle, a battle that might maim or even kill one of them. She had known from the first sight of the creature, that there would be no choice for her, for any of them. This had to be done. Regardless of the cost.

And it wasn't that she hadn't faced a dragon before—she had. So had Bull, and Dorian, and she was fairly sure Cullen had, too. But she had seen Bull and Dorian fight before, she knew their abilities, their strengths, their limitations. Cullen, however, was a wild card. Though she knew he had talent—he must have to have reached such a lofty rank at such a young age—and she had seen him train others—give direction and advice and support…

But, damn it, seeing Cullen engulfed in flames like that, had nearly stopped her heart. She didn't spare a second to thank Dorian for his spell; there was no way to convey the deep level of gratitude she felt at that moment. But she did make a promise to herself to leave Cullen out of any future adventuring. It was far too distracting for her, seeing her love throw himself in harm's way. She knew it was his nature, his training, his calling even—but she didn't have to like it.

One of her arrows arced gracefully through the air, and she found herself holding her breath as it curved and began its downward journey, falling gently at first, then gaining momentum, her aim true…

But the beast wasn't cooperating. It moved its head at the last moment, turning back to Cullen, and the arrow bounced harmlessly off of a horn rather than sinking into an eye socket. It wasn't even enough to distract the dragon from swinging its foreleg at him, striking his shield with enough force to send Cullen staggering. He kept his feet, and his shield, and even managed a backhanded swipe at the wound now oozing behind its knee. But she felt useless, her arrow having done nothing to help the situation.

"Rotten luck, that. But try again, my dear. The only way you'll never succeed is if you never try." Dorian was sweating already, his concentration as strained as his voice.

"That…" she paused, another arrow already notched and aimed, "That made absolutely no sense." Feeling slightly miffed at the mage, she let the arrow loose, and it flew a little off target this time. But this time the dragon cooperated, turning its head back around and opening its maw, intending to breathe fire on Bull, and instead getting an arrow into the back of its throat. It gagged, choked, and belched a fire ball harmlessly off to the side to burn the arrow out of its throat.

"Nice shot!"

It would have been, she thought to herself, if she had intended it to happen. But all she had going for her right then was lucky happenstance. She was too far away from the fight to do any real good; it was taking too long for her arrows to land. "I need to get closer," she thought out loud.

"Then get closer," Dorian answered.

She turned to blink at him. "I can't. I'm supposed to be covering you…"

"You and I both know that's not the best use of your time or abilities right now." He paused in his lecture to swing his staff around, his eyes focused on Bull, and with a grunt for the effort, he cast a spell and protected Bull from the next belch of flame. "As much as I hate to admit my shortcomings, I can't keep this up all day. It's already been nearly an hour we've been pounding at this monster."

"An hour," she repeated, quietly, studying the situation, surveying their progress, as little as it was. Bull had managed to catch a few swipes in between some scales, but never deep enough to do any real harm to the beast. Cullen had more success, even now his sword swung again at the back of the foreleg, slicing deeper, widening the wound, and the blood coming out changed in force from an ooze to a trickle.

The dragon noticed his progress, too, and screamed a roar of outrage.

"Ice!" she shouted, suddenly inspired.

"Beg your pardon?" Dorian swung his staff and protected Cullen from the sudden kick of the dragon's back leg at his side.

"It's a fire dragon. The last one we fought, well, Solas used an ice spell on it, and hurt it. Badly. I remember he muttered something about fire dragons being susceptible to ice." She turned to Dorian, such a hopeful look on her face that he was loathe to crush it. "Do you know any…"

"No, sorry, Peredura," he felt like a heel as her face fell, but he couldn't lie to her. "I might be able to dredge up one or two from my memory, but my field of expertise is more in the realm of, erm, well, necromancy. Death and spirits and the like." He cast another spell on Bull, keeping the dragon from biting off his leg. "I'm not versed on fire or ice spells."

"But you might remember one or two?" she pressed, unwilling or unable to give up on the idea.

And, damn it, Dorian really couldn't deny her. "I'll see what I can do. In the meantime," he gave her shoulder a shove, "Do us all a favor, and get to where you can do some good against that thing. I'll protect you."

She flashed him a smile, thought about giving his cheek a kiss, then remembered she was wearing a helmet. Instead she raced off, jumping over smaller boulders and skittering around heavier brush, until she felt she was close enough to make the last of her arrows count.

She was also close enough to clearly hear the din of the battle. She hadn't thought about it before, but she thought about it now. Bull and Cullen calling out to each other, coordinating their efforts, planning their next move. There was the thundering stomp as the dragon moved and shifted its feet, trying to protect itself, trying to murder the things attacking it. And the air positively hissed with the heat of fire.

The air was shattered as a shower of icicles shot overhead, breaking through the heat, and just missing the dragon's shoulder. Yes, she exclaimed to herself, or maybe she had yelled it, too excited to notice or care. She fitted an arrow to her bow and aimed, carefully, as the dragon tried to discern where the ice had come from.

Her arrow let loose. She had predicted the dragon would spot Dorian, now that he was overtly attacking it. She had predicted the dragon would rear back to take a deep breath, in preparation for breathing fire. And, as predicted, her arrow flew to the place where she anticipated its head would be…

There wasn't a sound as the missile embedded itself into the eye socket up to the fletching.

"Way to go, Boss!" Bull yelled, even before Cullen could turn and discover her so close to the fight. "Now, move your ass back!"

She wanted to stick her tongue out at him, the joy and exhilaration over the excellent shot lending her far too much bravado. But the next moment Cullen was there, wrapping one arm around her while the other raised his shield over their heads.

It was eery. Dorian's spell protected them both, but to stand there, unmoving, while fire fell around them in an amber waterfall of death, watching the flames pool and puddle at their feet before flowing out over the ground—she wanted to wet herself. But as the moment passed, as the danger faded, as the flames went out with a flicker, she lifted her face up and gave Cullen a somewhat sheepish look.

He dropped his sword, his fingers pulling at the stays of her cheek guards, then at the stays of his, freeing their mouths for a quick kiss. "Good shot. Now get the fuck out of here! I can't focus on the dragon if I'm worried about you being in danger."

"And you think I can!?" she countered, kissed him back, but spun and started back up the hillside towards Dorian.

Damn, but he loved that woman!

Assured that she was moving away from danger and not towards it, he returned his attention to the beast. It was rearing and roaring, its wounded foreleg swiping at the wounded eye, but in a futile gesture. Even if it could get the arrow out, the eye was already blinded.

"It's gonna be pissed now," Bull warned, "Dangerous, unpredictable. This is where it gets fun! Taarsidath-an halsaam!"

Cullen rolled his eyes, having no idea what Bull had just shouted in qunlat, but fairly sure he didn't want to know. He picked up his sword and turned back to the dragon, readying himself for the next round.

He was not expecting anything of the sort of what happened next. Instead of breathing fire, or stomping the ground, or even swiping with its tail—which Cullen kept watching out for—it reared back, exposing its massive chest, and began beating its wings. A whirlwind spun up, surrounding the dragon. Cullen could feel the wind pull at the backs of his knees, but not hard enough to stagger him. He waited, wondering what it was doing, and why, and wishing Bull would give the signal for their next attack.

Then he heard a cry of alarm behind him. He turned and saw that, further out from the dragon, the wind had grown stronger, like the winds of a hurricane with the dragon at the eye of the storm. Peredura was caught in this outer wind, her bow ripped from her grasp, one hand clinging stubbornly to a boulder while the wind lifted her off her feet. Before he could cry out with his own alarm, Bull's voice rang across the valley.

"DORIAN!"

Cullen looked in the direction Bull's face was pointed and easily found the mage, his robes flashing as he spun downhill, flailing uncontrollably and unsuccessfully at every rock and brush to try to halt his fatal tumble. His staff was gone, no doubt torn from his hands as Peredura's bow from hers. Only he hadn't been as lucky to find a purchase as she had been. He continued to roll and bounce down the slope, hopeless, helpless, rushing towards them and his doom.

Peredura's free hand reached out and made a grab for the mage as he plunged past. Both of them cried at at the sudden halt, Peredura feeling like her arm had gotten dislocated, Dorian feeling the same about his ankle. It was ignoble, being caught by his foot, his robes flying up over his head and exposing everything underneath—thankfully he did wear clothing beneath his robes, leggings at least, though he hadn't bothered with a tunic.

Yet at least he was alive and safe, if only Peredura could hold on.

Both Cullen and Bull had that same thought at the same time. Both turned as one back to the dragon. Both began attacking the beast, beating at its legs and belly and anything they could reach. Bull's axe finally penetrated with a degree of success between the scales, slicing a gash and causing blood to flow. The blade came free, but he didn't stop, spinning around and swinging his axe to take another swipe at the wound. And another. And another.

The dragon gave up beating its wings, sensing the more immediate danger was already too close. It dropped back onto all fours, back onto its belly. With a shout Bull jumped back out of the way, keeping himself from being crushed beneath the dragon's weight, but losing his axe in the process. Cullen also staggered back out of danger, and out of position.

Peredura shook herself, thankful the gale force winds had stopped, and leg go of Dorian's ankle. "You alright?" she asked, gaining her feet and brushing off a few of the twigs and bits of grass clinging to her thighs.

"Only thing wounded is my pride," Dorian quipped, trying to reach his feet. He took one step and winced, immediately lifting one foot and rubbing at the ankle, "Oh, and this. But I'd much rather be limping right now, then finding myself inside a dragon's stomach."

"Agreed," she nodded. Automatically she reached for her bow, but quickly remembered she was weaponless. "Kaffas."

"Me, too," Dorian moaned. "This is the first time in, well, ages that I've been without my staff in hand." Then he looked at her and commanded, "Do not say it."

"Nah, too obvious," she agreed. "Can you still perform magic without your staff?"

"I can," he nodded, turning just in time to see the dragon try to flop down on top of Bull. He gasped, holding his breath until he saw that Bull was free, though now as weaponless as they were. He tried to cover his slip with a cough, "Damn wind's left some dust in my throat. My spells won't be as powerful as before, but I can still…"

"DUCK!" she cried, but it was too late. The dragon had decided that, with Bull and Cullen temporarily out of the picture, it could focus its attention on the two attackers who were further up the hill. Dorian's back had been to the dragon, his focus on Peredura while he answered her, so he didn't notice the fireball coming towards them until it was too late.

"Dorian!" Peredura cried again, even as the fireball landed inches from him and exploded on impact. The mage was knocked off his feet and through the air, his limbs as limp as a rag doll, his eyes rolling back up into his head, his robes aflame. She had a far-too-perfect view of it all as he arced through the air to slam into her. Together they fell back against the slope, and without pausing to think she wrapped her arms around him and began rolling until they were safe behind the dubious cover of a nearby boulder. Immediately she was up and kneeling over him, all but ripping off her jacket to use it to beat out the flames.

"Dorian!" she smacked. "Dorian! Answer me!" she smacked again.

"Stop!" he held up a hand in surrender, but she ignored him. Getting an answer out of him, knowing he was alive and conscious, she gave off beating the flames to tear his robes right off him. He struggled briefly, but whether it was with her or against her she couldn't tell. Then the robes were off and she was flinging them to the side away from them.

"Dorian?" she asked a little quieter, the adrenaline and fear lending some volume to her voice, but trying to calm herself down. She cupped his face and leaned over him, feeling a little trickle of blood beneath her fingers on either side of his head, "Dorian?"

"Yes," he blinked at her, "That sounds about right. I'll let you know for sure once the bells stop ringing in my ears and I can think."

With Dorian somewhat alright, she turned just far enough to look over her shoulder at the dragon to see how it and the other two were faring. It wasn't good. The dragon had leaned back to pluck Bull's axe from its chest and throw it aside. Bull went chasing after it, knowing he'd need it to fight, but unfortunately that left Cullen to face the beast alone.

"No time," she muttered, grabbing Dorian's bare shoulder and yanking him to a sitting position. "Cast your spell. Hurry. Cullen needs you!"

"Cullen…?" Dorian repeated, blinking unfocused eyes in her direction, "Spell? What spell?"

"Your protection spell! Cast it! Hurry or he'll die!" Her fingernails bit into his shoulder with the intensity of her fear.

Bull reached his axe and spun to return to the fight, but he was already too far away.

Cullen swung his sword at the wounded foreleg, finally slicing deep enough to severe the tendon.

The dragon roared and lifted the hobbled leg up and out of danger, its body twisting around to glare at Cullen.

Peredura gave Dorian a harsh shake. "Snap out of it! Cast your spell! Now!"

Dorian did as commanded, not sure why, not even sure where he was aiming. He couldn't see, his vision doubled or even tripled, it was hard to tell. But he did his best, drawing on the magic reserves inside him, pulling at the fabric of the fade, calling on the protective spirits, and blindly throwing the magic out to encompass…

"Fasta vass!" she moaned, "You protected the dragon!"

"The what?" Dorian blinked owlishly. Damn, but how he wished the blurry colors would solidify themselves into some short of shape that would make sense.

Peredura didn't answer, she couldn't answer, her heart in her throat. The dragon, encompassed within Dorian's protective spell, was about to attack Cullen. He swung his sword, striking the dragon smartly across the snout. It was hard to tell who was more surprised, the dragon when it found it hadn't even gotten a scratch, or Cullen when his sword bounced harmlessly off the maw of the creature. He had used all his strength in that swing, a strength that was now turned against him. His sword went flying off in one direction, his arm another, and his numbed fingers were forced to let go of his weapon. He allowed himself only a grunt for the pain, time moving too fast, too much about to happen. The dragon reared back and lowered its mouth once more and vomited fire out of its lungs.

Cullen dropped to one knee and raised his shield, but the expectant nimbus of Dorian's magic never arrived. Instead he felt heat, a suffocating heat that smothered the breath in his lungs, a burning heat that roasted him inside his armor, an unending heat that fell all around him from the edges of his shield. He snarled and sneered at the danger and the doom, and in what he believed to be his final act of defiance, he made himself stand up against the flow of flame and ram his shield inside the dragon's mouth.

The monster suddenly stopped. Though the edges of the shield couldn't penetrate past Dorian's spell, those same edges could wedge themselves tightly between the dragon's teeth. It stopped breathing fire to try to figure out what had happened, sitting back on its haunches and giving its head a little shake to dislodge the offending bit of metal.

Unfortunately, Cullen's arm was still strapped tightly to the shield, and the rest of him to his arm. He dangled from the dragon's mouth, out of sight but not out of danger, as it shook and shuddered and tried to remove the shield. The uninjured foreleg came around from the other side, trying to pick the teeth clean, and Peredura knew she had to act fast. Her eyes fell on Cullen's sword, lying forgotten on the ground, and a plan began to form even as she started moving.

"Cast your spell on me," she said to Dorian. "Right here, right in front of you, as strong as you can make it." She grabbed his hands and held them to either side of her head, willing his vision to clear enough to see her, or at least enough to allow his spell to land on her this time. He didn't argue or question her, he simply did as she commanded, too befuddled to truly care.

As soon as she began to feel the spell take effect, she turned and raced off. "Bull!" she shouted next, seeing him running up from the side. "Swing at its belly! Shallow strokes! Keep swinging! Wear the barrier down!"

She bent down mid-step and scooped up Cullen's sword, hardly missing a beat as her feet pounded closer and closer to the dragon.

"Got it, Boss!" Bull also didn't question, didn't argue, no matter what his thoughts were on the matter. He reached the dragon first and began swinging his axe, spinning round and round and round, hitting that magical barrier and not the dragon, but making the magic use itself up in protecting the belly of the beast.

The dragon finally got the shield free, man and metal falling to the ground like a discarded wad of spit. Peredura refused to look at Cullen, refused to acknowledge he was still, refused to consider what might have happened. Instead she planned her route up the blind side of the dragon, jumping to grab the talon of the injured foreleg, swinging her weight up as she pulled the foot down, keeping her legs together as she vaulted over the shoulder, letting go of the talon to grasp at a horn.

It wasn't pretty, but it worked. She landed on the neck of the dragon, just behind its head, right at the base of its skull. It hardly noticed her lighter weight, its attention more focused on Bull and his continuous slicing attacks at its belly. The barrier was thinning, growing fainter by the moment. She wasn't sure if it had something more to do with the dragon being so much larger that the magic couldn't cover it all for as long as it could cover one of them. Or if it was being beaten and worn down beneath Bull's impressive onslaught, far fiercer and longer sustained than the dragon's own attacks. And, quite frankly, she didn't care. The fact remained, the barrier was thinning, and her's was fully intact. She wrapped her legs around it and waited.

It lowered its head to snap at Bull, the scales parting slightly at the base of the skull, the barrier flickering out, and Peredura had her chance. With two hands she gripped the sword. With all her strength she drove the blade, point first, up and between the scales. With all her breath she screamed in rage and ferocity and fear and determination.

Something hot and slightly sticky spilled out of the wound, something her mind refused to identify, something that smelled of rancid meat and rotten eggs, something dark and slimy and staining as it poured over her arms and legs. She retched, purely a reflexive action, but held on fast. The dragon thrashed and roared, shaking its head, only to work the blade deeper into its brainpan. With a strangled, cut-off sort of hiccough, it suddenly stopped in mid-swish, head tilted at a funny sort of angle, and time slowed in a macabre sort of way. Then the air began to deflate out of its lungs, the body folding in on itself, the neck following to roll itself across the floor of the valley, the head landing with a snap at the end.

Dust was kicked up from the force of the impact. Bull coughed and held a hand up to his eyes but refused to turn away. He had to watch, he had to make sure, he had to see for himself…

There! Peredura was standing, a little unsteady on her feet, but she was standing, her magical barrier glowing faintly. She appeared out of the dust a good fifteen feet beyond the dragon's head, a furrow of rolled over brush in her wake. She leaned over and braced one hand on her thigh, waved the dust away from her face, coughed and spat it out of her mouth. Her expression was neither victorious nor scared, but more a numb sort of calmness as she struggled to come to grips with all that had happened in the past few moments. She looked up as Bull approached.

"Damn, Boss, that was… BAD ASS!"

She wanted to laugh. She wanted so badly to enjoy the moment and savor the victory, but she knew she wouldn't be able to relax, to let herself loose, until everyone was accounted for and safe. She stood up straight, her demeanor confident and commanding, while inwardly her heart was racing with worry. "Go check on Dorian; I left him behind one of the boulders on the slope somewhere. I need to find Cullen and make sure he's…" Her voice grew strangled as another cloud of dust and smoke drifted past, borne along by the light breeze, making her cough and choke, and also providing cover for her emotions. Anxiously she peered through the haze, completely missing Bull's acknowledgment of her orders or his comforting hand on her shoulder before he raced off to track down Dorian. Her eyes narrowed as she peered through the aftermath of battle, spinning in place, trying to remember where she had last seen Cullen. But she was lost, completely turned around and disoriented, and wherever he had ended up, he was effectively out of sight. Her heart now hammering at her ribcage, trying to crawl up out of her throat, she started to circle around the dragon's corpse, looking for any sign—a groove in the dirt, a broken buckle, a discarded weapon or shield—that would tell her Cullen was still alive.

BREAK

Cullen was cold.

Not that he hadn't felt cold before. He knew the cold of winter, the cold of death, the cold of betrayal, even the coolness of a woman's touch, of Peredura's timid fingers against his fevered skin.

But this was different. This wasn't so much a cold of sensation, as it was a cold of… nothing…

He feared the worst, which was always pragmatic for an unknown situation; fear the worst, prepare for it, then no matter what is happening, one will be far better equipped to handle it. Yet he wouldn't let himself feel the fear; prepare for it, certainly, act on it, if necessary, but never let it rule his heart. He kept his breathing slow, his heartbeat steady, and began to try to move, to test his limits, to explore his surroundings, to define his situation.

Something hindered him. Something kept him still. Something kept him from sitting up or rolling onto his side or even…

Even seeing. Maker's breath! He couldn't use his eyes. He couldn't see. He was blind!

Something must have slipped through his control, some sign or sound of his distress, for in the next moment a different coldness fell across him, a familiar and longed-for touch, the coolness of Peredura's fingers on his fevered skin. Was he sick again, he wondered, manfully striving to conquer his panic while he reasoned out his predicament. It took him several moments—several very long moments for Peredura, but he couldn't have known that—before her words, her voice, finally penetrated his ears and soaked into the sponge-like gray matter of his brain.

"Cullen? Do you understand me? Don't try to move, not yet, not until you finish healing."

"…healing…" he managed to catch that last word, the others leaking through his mind, his thoughts, as quickly as they had entered. "…healing…" He repeated, desperately clinging to something that would make sense, something that would explain what had happened, something that would stave off the emotions threatening to unman him. It was like holding onto water, or grains of sand, or even the wind. But, eventually, thanks largely to Peredura's patience and persistence, he began to remember more of what happened, bit by bit, drop by drop, grain by grain.

"…the dragon…?" he sighed, memory becoming clear as the mist lifted. Listening to her gentle voice helped, the husky alto tones, the way she slightly slurred her 'r's. Not that he paid attention to the words themselves, but as she recounted their latest adventure, he could see it play out in his mind, as if her words unlocked the past few hours. He remembered taking aim at the dragon's snout and his sword bouncing harmlessly off and out of his grasp, the dragon reaching down with its maw open, giving him an unhindered view inside the darkness of its throat. Then the spark, the flicker, of amber/orange light, reflecting off of the back of its mouth, before it belched forth… "Fire!"

"Sh, Cullen, please, it's alright. It's over. Everything's alright, now. The dragon's dead. We're safe. It's over."

He had almost managed to sit up, or at least struggle enough to feel the blanket restricting his movements. He collapsed back onto the bedroll, barely managing to keep his breath steady, as it all coming back in vivid detail. Ironic, that, how everything became clear now that he was blind. Yet he wouldn't let himself indulge in a huff of self-pity. "Are you safe? And Bull? Dorian?" One arm had come free of the blanked, the hand flailing around until he came into contact with something soft and warm.

She captured his hand, holding it close to her unblemished cheek, sparing it a kiss before she answered."I wasn't hurt, no more than a few scrapes and bruises, anyway." Her hand dropped away to cup the back of his neck, and something hard and curved, like a ring or a circle, pressed against his lower lip, "Now, drink up. You haven't had enough of this yet for it to heal all of your injuries."

"What…?" he began, but as his mouth opened, she tipped the bottle, and something thick and smelling slightly floral dripped onto his tongue.

"Swallow," she commanded, and he obeyed. "Good, now ask your next question, and I'll answer while you drink some more healing potion."

That had been his first question, what was she pressing against his mouth and making him drink. He cast about for another question, all but overrun with a million of them, and the darkest one, the most fearful one, slipped out. "Am I blind?"

"What?!" there was a tone of surprised alarm in her voice, and for a moment she gave him a reprieve from the potion. Then she answered, "No," and a soft rustling sound of silken strands, as if she was shaking her head and her long brown hair was sweeping back and forth across her shoulders. "No, no, no, Cullen, your eyes are fine. Trust me. They're the same beautiful, mysteriously deep hazel that have captivated me for months. Believe me; I've checked already. Your eyes are fine."

"Then…" his words were interrupted by more healing potion. Remembering his end of the bargain, he took another mouthful and swallowed before asking, "Then why can't I see?"

He heard her sigh, thought she might be hedging as she tried to think up some sort of excuse, but he could tell by the tone of her voice, when she answered him, that she was speaking the truth. "Your face was burned, just the skin, and not bad enough to blister, though it is a bit worse than a sunburn. Dorian has some, erm, goop he uses, for wounds, something that helps to keep them from scarring. It also helps to numb the pain. I, ah," he heard her pause, and the embarrassment in her voice when she continued, "I might have used a bit too much on your face, but I didn't want you to hurt, or to scar." Again, there was more to her voice, as if she would, well, spare him—pain or scarring or both, she would spare him something she had suffered herself. He felt such an act was foolish, he minded neither pain nor scars, but she cleared her throat and made him swallow the last of the potion as she finished explaining. "Anyway, I wrapped a bandage around your eyes, because the skin was burned, even though your eyes are fine, but I didn't want you to open your eyes and get the, um, salve or whatever he called it, into your eyes. Now, lie still," her hand spread out over his chest, and he realized there was something wrapped around his torso, "And let the potion do its thing."

"What else?" he pressed, wanting to know it all, "What other injuries do I have?" When she didn't answer right away, his hand gripped her arm, fearing she might try to escape without giving him an answer, and insisted, "You have my whole left side immobilized, from my shoulder to my leg. What is it? What's wrong? How badly am I hurt?"

"It's not that bad," she denied. He increased the pressure of his fingers, not enough to hurt, but enough to get his message across. Her hand covered his, squeezing back, reassuringly. "Honest, Cullen. Nothing's broken, as far as we could tell. The Iron Bull did have to set your shoulder, it must have gotten dislocated, you know, from when you were hanging from your shield, dangling beneath the dragon's mouth while it was swinging its head around trying to spit you out."

There might have been a bit of reproachfulness in her tone, but he chose to ignore it, preferring to wince with the returning memory.

"You got a few cracked ribs, from the landing," she gave up scolding him, seeing the hurt look on his face, "And your hip was bruised pretty bad, black and blue from here," she touched just beneath his ribs, "To here," her fingers moved traced lightly down his side to just above mid-thigh. Maker, but what that touch did to him. Suddenly his leggings felt very tight, very restrictive, and far too pinching.

"Sorry," she jerked her hand away, "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I forgot, but of course, the bruise will still hurt to be touched, the potion needs time to work, sorry."

"You apologize too much," his breath was heavy as he calmed her, relieved she hadn't notice his reaction. He cocked his right leg in an effort to conceal any, er, anything. Not to mention, trying to shift and adjust himself into a less pinching position. "I'm alright. It's alright. Is that all? What about you? Were you hurt?"

"No, I told you already, just a few scratches and bruises. The same for the Iron Bull. Qunari are fairly thick skinned."

"And… Dorian?"

He heard her hesitation again. "He got a little, um, singed, when the dragon spit a fireball at him. It didn't hit him directly, but it did sort of exploded. Knocked him off his feet and into me. His robes caught fire, and he's got a bit of burnt skin, like you, worse than a sunburn, but not enough to worry about. Any maybe a concussion; he was a little confused for a bit. But the Iron Bull's taking good care of him."

Cullen hummed an agreeable sort of sound, "I can well imagine."

There might have been a breathy sort of giggle, and for a moment, he wondered what he could have said that was so funny. Then he heard her shift, felt the warmth emanating from her body as she leaned over him, and savored the tickling sensation of her lips pressing a light kiss just in front of his ear—undoubtedly one of the few patches of unburnt skin on his face. "I have to take the first watch tonight, but I'll check in on you later. Get some rest, let the potion do its work, you'll be healed by morning." Then he felt the presence of her body pulling away.

"Pere!" he called softly, not wanting her to go, not wanting to let her go.

He heard what might have been a sniff, something soft and snuffling and all but lost to the darkness that encased him. Then she breathed, "Good night, Cullen. Sweet dreams."

He sighed, letting go of the last of the day's adrenaline and fear and fight, "Sweet dreams, Pere." He heard the heavy sound of tent canvas rustle, the soft padding of her feet fading away, and knew he was alone.

But sleep did not come easy to him. It never did, not since Kinloch.

He tossed and turned. At one point, he managed to loosen the bindings holding his arm to his side, shrugging out of them, flinging away the restraints that were making him feel too closed in.

Yet sleep continued to elude him.

It wasn't until hours later, halfway through the night, that things changed. His semi-wakeful mind registered the sound of voices somewhere beyond the tent, soft and muted but carrying to his ears nonetheless. Then there was the rustle of the tent flap opening, a thud as something heavy landed on the ground, a hissed curse, another something heavy being discarded…

At long last, he heard the over-weary sigh of someone dead on their feet finally reaching bed. He opened his eyes, having also discarded his blindfold hours before, and could just make out the curves of her shape, a darkness against the backdrop of the moonlight tent canvas. He reached out, sleepy fingers groping, tugging insistently on her tunic, much like a child at his mother's apron, trying to gain her attention.

Peredura mumbled something, but it wasn't a protest, more of a question.

Cullen answered, but not with words. He pulled her towards him, pressing his front to her back, molding her body against his. It felt so right, so natural, her form fitting so neatly curled before him. It was as if two pieces, created separately and by different masters, somehow found each other and discovered that they had been shaped specifically for each other, to fit together so perfectly it couldn't be seen where one piece left off and the other began.

Only then, only after he had her in his arms, only after his nose burrowed deeply into her lilac-scented hair—only then did he finally drift off to sleep.