Chapter Forty: The Scar
"Commander!"
Cullen's heart raced when he heard her voice calling to him. His eyes hungrily sought out the source of the sound, finding her standing on the landing of the stairs leading to the front of the Keep. Fear was beside her, on all fours and panting happily, letting loose with a bark of greeting before bounding down towards him ahead of her. Cullen vainly tried to keep the joy and relief from his features as he finished removing his helmet before answering. "Madam Inquisitor!"
Despite the Mabari's speed, she was only a few steps behind him. She raced up to Cullen and nearly launched herself into his arms before remembering that it was broad daylight in the middle of the courtyard. "Oh, ah, it's good… I mean, I'm glad… that is, erm…" she nipped her lip, her eyes sweeping up to the top of his head, "Oh, ah, that's…"
He smiled a little, "I know, helmet hair. I'll get it straightened out later."
She smiled back, warmer, and a little bit bigger. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see at least two score of soldiers coming in through the main gate, milling around the courtyard, some heading to the tavern, blatantly reminding her that they were not alone. Casting about for something appropriate to say, she began, "You made good time."
"Not as good as you, but you cheated, coming through the eluvian." He almost chuckled, before growing serious. "Soon as I learned what had happened, I returned to Skyhold with all due haste. Most of our forces are still in the Arbor Wilds, rounding up the last of Corypheus' forces. But I…" his hand swayed, moving forward just that little bit, brushing the back of his gloved fingers against her own hand, "…I wanted… I had to make sure you were all right."
She had the decency to blush a little. "I am all right. A little out of breath and my head is swimming, what with all that's been going on lately, but…" she batted her eyes at him, "That will only need a bit of time to sort itself out."
"It's… hard for me," he admitted softly, "At Adamant, and again at the Temple, any time really when I have to watch you race off to face danger and I… I cannot go with… be with you…" his hand strayed up towards her elbow.
"I…" she honestly didn't know what to say.
Neither did he. "Yes, well, ah…"
They stared at each other, hard and hungry, wanting and impotent to do anything about it. The soldiers continued to file past them, calling out to each other, saluting the Inquisitor, reciting stories and adventures, promising free drinks. Cullen let his hand drop and straightened his shoulders. "Now does not appear to be a good time."
"No," she agreed, shaking her head, "It does not. You were on your way somewhere?"
He nodded. "To the armory. I somehow lost my dagger. Stupid, little thing, really, but my belt doesn't feel right without the weight of it there. Where were you off to?"
"The battlements," she answered. "I was, um, thinking of getting some fresh air, to help clear my head."
He noted the blush deepening on her cheeks and gave her that damnable smirk, which only served to increase the color. "Probably a good idea."
"Oh!" She wanted to punch him for the nerve, the cheek, but the press of bodies around them kept her still. "Commander, I will want to speak with you later." She looked pointedly at his hair. "After you've straightened yourself up a bit."
"I see, you wish a full debriefing," he was quite proud of himself for that double entendre. "Would this evening work? After dinner?"
"Perfect," her eyes narrowed suggestively. "And in my quarters. I don't want any interruptions interfering with your... debriefing." Her lips twitched when she used his clever wording.
"I am at your command, Madam Inquisitor," he bowed to her.
"Oh!" She all but squealed, feeling her cheeks burst into flame, feeling her insides turn warm and mushy. She had to race away, her heart racing ahead of her, before she did something really embarrassing. Yet she could hear his low chuckle trailing behind her.
She whipped up the stairs, Fear nipping at her heels and barking happily, thinking it a game. She indulged his exuberance, letting him think it was a race, even to the point of playing along and allowing him to reach the top first. She knelt down next to him, her fingers buried in his fur, her face pressed up next to his. "Well done, Fear. Good boy. You won. You are so fast, and strong, and the best hound ever!"
He licked her face, from chin to forehead, and she laughed, using a sleeve to mop up the slobber. "All right, all right, don't rub it in. Come on, Fear," she continued, standing up and looking out over the mountains, "Let's go clear our heads."
They walked only a little ways, reaching the part over the main gate before she stopped to stare at the road leading to the valley beneath Skyhold. Fear settled to his haunches, looking up at her with a tilted head, but it didn't seem she was in the mood to give him any more attention. He watched her looking at nothing for a few minutes, wondering what if anything he should do, when he saw a familiar face approach. He gave his customary greeting, and was rewarded with a chuckle and a scratch behind an ear.
"Hello, Fear. Enjoying the sunshine?"
Peredura looked over at the dwarf and smiled. "Hello, Varric."
"Inquisitorialness," he acknowledged as he came up to stand next to her. "It's been quite the adventure, hasn't it."
At Varric's irreverent remark, she had to duck her head and smile, trying and failing to hide the laughter. "'Inquisitorialness'?"
"Yeah, I know," he shrugged, a bit ruefully over his inadequacy, "It's a mouthful of a nickname. I'm still working on it."
She managed to get the giggles under control, but the smile remained in place as they continued their conversation. "Whatever happened to 'Snowdrop'?"
"Ah, yes, I remember that one," he nodded, his smile turning genuine. "It had been fine and all, when you were just a mere slip of a girl, caught up in something way too big for you, and looking all doe-eyed and lost. But you changed," he narrowed his eyes, as if studying her, "You grew up. Matured. Became a leader. A Force to challenge nations," he swung his arms wide. "Now you need something…" he flapped his hands as if casting about for a word, "Epic… sounding. Something more fitting to a hero, or, erm, heroine. 'Snowdrop' is the name of a sidekick, like Daisy or Button."
"Who are Daisy and Button?"
Varric's eyes grew distant for a moment. "Oh, just a couple of friends of mine from back in Kirkwall. Listen, I know there hasn't been a whole lot of time lately for any of us to catch our breath. I just want to make sure YOU," he tapped the center of her chest, "Are at your best."
She turned to look out over the valley once more. "You mean, am I feeling a bit overwhelmed, between rifts and demons, Venatori and Red Templars, eluvians, the Temple of Mythal, Morrigan at the Well, Corypheus…" She stopped when Fear nudged her thigh with his large head. Steadying herself, she allowed her hound half a smile and a pat in gratitude for helping anchor her wayward thoughts. "Yup, okay, I can admit it. A lot has been going on."
"Uh-huh," Varric hummed in a noncommittal manner.
"But I'm here," she took a deep breath, "You're here. Our friends are all present and accounted for, so that's something."
"Go on," he encouraged.
She lifted up her chin. "We prevented Corypheus from gaining access to the eluvians. We've captured his Red General. His forces are scattered. We have him on the run." She looked at him, her eyes clear, her voice steady. "For once, we have outmaneuvered him. We are winning."
"That's my girl," he smiled, feeling relief he hadn't walked in on her in a melancholy mood. He never liked seeing her in one of her brown studies. "Speaking of which, do we have any idea where he's gone to now?"
She slumped again, but it was more for casual conversation than any sort of defeated feeling. "No idea," she admitted with a slight grimace. "There's been no sign of him…"
They all saw it first, the flash in the sky, right where it had happened the first time, right over what was left of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.
Right over Haven.
Then the sound hit. A torrential scream of raging thunder, of the sky literally being torn asunder, a sound so painful it was felt physically. Several people down in the Courtyard were knocked off their feet. Up on the battlements, Peredura and Varric hung on to the protective stonework as if afraid of being ripped off by a strong wind. People inside the Keep came pouring out, staring around in fear and wonder.
Peredura gained her feet before Varric, her face studying the freshly reopened Breach. Wind followed the thunder, carrying with it dust and snow even from miles away, the tiny bits of debris whipping past so fast they threatened to shred whatever was in their way. She had to raise her forearms to shield her face, her sleeves immediately torn to ribbons, but even so she felt the sting of more than one speck of dust slice into her face and scalp. Then it was past, as quickly as it had started. Though the Breach remained.
"Fasta vass…"
"Yeah," Varric grunted, finally regaining his feet, "You were saying?"
She ignored his jibe, or perhaps hadn't even heard it, her body moving instinctively and efficiently. She leaned out over the other side of the battlements, down into the Courtyard, and called out, "COMMANDER!"
'Not Cullen,' Varric thought to himself, 'Not Beloved, not Amore, but Commander. The girl does know whom she wants, when she wants him.'
"Inquisitor!" The answering call was heard seconds after. They both turned to see Cullen, still in his armor, racing towards them from the armory. "I see it. Devensport! Round up every Honor Guard available. Saunders, gather whatever troops we have here, and send ravens to the others returning from the Wilds to head for Haven with all speed. Maker only knows what we're going to find there. Be ready to move out within the hour, sooner if you are able! Hurry!"
"Ser!" The men shouted in unison even as they raced off to do his bidding.
He bounded up the steps towards them, two-by-two, almost flying in his haste to reach her. She closed the gap, meeting him at the landing, wanting so badly to fall into his arms but knowing she had to remain focused. In looking at his face, she saw he was feeling the same way. Varric hung back, forgotten for the moment, and kept Fear company.
"We have to get moving as soon as we can," he told her. "No telling what Corypheus is doing now, or how much time he will need to do it, so the sooner we get there…"
"…the sooner we can end this. How many of my Honor Guard are available? We'll need every single Templar we can get our hands on."
He grabbed her elbow and started escorting her to his office. "At least forty, perhaps sixty. You'll need armor, Inquisitor. There's a spare set in my office. Get changed. Quickly!"
"Cullen, I…" she hesitated at the threshold, looking up at him with large, soft brown eyes, "It's happening again. But this time, I want you to come with me."
Fear barked, and Varric said in a very droll manner, "I agree with him. We're all coming with you."
"So will I," Cullen answered, lowering his voice. "Go get ready. All of us will be with you, all the way to the end, I promise."
Somewhere, nearby, Cullen heard the labored breathing of someone very badly injured, wheezing, rasping, gurgling. If the poor soul didn't get help soon, he or she was not going to make it. Hold on, he silently encouraged the unfortunate soldier, help is coming. In an effort to lend assistance, he tried to get up.
And failed, pain ripping through his back between his shoulders and throbbing through his skull. He thought he heard the other soldier cry out, but it was more of an exhaled groan. He gritted his teeth and vowed to move slower, perhaps take stock of his situation before trying to move again.
Cullen blinked, slowly, opening his eyes—or were they already opened—and found his vision was full of the sky, broken, torn open, the Breach marring it in one nightmarish maw.
The Breach…
Haven…
Peredura…
Memory was slow to return to him, possibly due to the excruciating pain that was immobilizing him, but memory did return. The race to Haven. The ruins of the Temple. Corypheus raising the debris into the air like a three-dimensional chessboard. They were climbing, jumping, running, calling out to each other, he and Peredura and their closest companions, the first to have arrived at the Temple. Devensport and the Honor Guard were at least a half hour behind them, and the rest of their forces further back, but getting reinforcements no longer mattered. With the landscape being torn apart and elevated, there would be no chance for any more troops to reach them.
Sometime during the climb, Fear and Peredura were in front of him, but the path they used suddenly pulled apart. He had to find another way. He thought he saw an opportunity, a small piece of rock that if he jumped to it he could reach what looked like a stairway. It all seemed to head in the right direction. But he jumped and… He must have fallen. That's the only explanation that fit. He either missed the rock, or it couldn't carry his weight, and he fell and landed there, on his back, limbs sprawled like an old, broken toy that had been cast aside.
That other person's breathing changed, becoming more labored. Blessed Andraste, please, I can't move, I can't reach them, please, send someone else to help that poor soul!
He blinked again, his thoughts moving away from himself to Peredura. Where was she? Had she fallen, too? Was she still…? His eyes had been roaming the air above him, searching for any sign of her, and finally catching a glint reflected off of an overly large battleax.
The Iron Bull. He was standing on a piece of floating debris, looking out over the edge, and someone was with him. Peredura. Fear's head came into view as well, and the Mabari gave a bark, alerting them all to his presence. Their heads turned, trying to see what the hound could clearly see, but they did not find him. Did he look as small to them, as they did to him? Then he realized, they were silhouetted against the sky, the Breach casting an eerie glow about them, so of course they were easy to spot. He, however, wasn't so outlined, pressed into and lost amongst the haphazardly strewn debris. He had to make himsel more obvious to them somehow…
He found the strength to raise his hand, the pain in his back intensifying but worth it if he could only reassure her: See me. Here I am. I'm all right, but I can't go with you. I'll be here when you get back. Go on. Do your duty. I'll be here when you get back…
She saw him, her attitude becoming excited and pointing towards him. She started moving, but Iron Bull's massive hand was on her upper arm, almost covering it completely. Cullen watched as she pulled and twisted uselessly, trying to break free, no doubt so she could find some way to jump back down to him. He saw Iron Bull lean in to her ear. She looked like she stopped trying to pull away, but she was not happy. He could just make out the reluctant way she squared her shoulders, and he hoped Bull had finally talked sense into her. No, there was nothing she could do for him at the moment. She had her job. She needed to do it. He watched her raise her hand in acknowledgement before turning away to disappear from sight. Fear gave another bark and turned to follow her.
Bull remained a moment longer, staring at Cullen. No doubt the Qunari's one good eye picked out more details than Peredura's two good eyes had, but he would keep the details to himself. He nodded at Cullen, once, as if vowing: I will stay by her side, Commander, I will keep her safe for you.
Then he was alone.
Cullen let his arm drop, not carrying how or where it landed. Peredura would put him out of her mind for the time being and focus on her mission. Fear would be at her side. So would Iron Bull, protecting her as Cullen wished he could—she would be just fine.
Unlike that poor unfortunate soul, the one who's breathing he could still hear, but barely, the wheezing inhales and gurgling exhales growing fainter and further apart…
He blinked, at least he thought it had been a blink. Something was different. Something was very different. He could feel someone else's warm breath falling across his face, and a shadow covered his view. Then the breath lessened, the shadow receding, and next he saw a face right above him, pulling slowly away. He wasn't sure what had happened, how long he had been out, but at least he knew the person hovering over him like an old ninny. "…Leliana…?"
She smiled, her face softening only briefly. "Welcome back, Commander." She made to wipe at something near the corner of his mouth, then hesitantly at the tip of her nose where there was a smear of soot or mud. Funny, but what she wiped off her nose looked to be the same as what she had wiped from his face.
But things starting happening before he could pursue that thought any further. He got an eyeful of the underside of her chin as she began talking to someone else, "We'll have to be extremely careful as we move him…"
No, he thought to himself, not me, "…help the other one first…"
"Wait a moment." Leliana held out her hand to whoever else was there, pausing their work. She brought her face back down towards his, turning to bring her ear towards his mouth. "What was that, Commander?"
His jaw felt sluggish, his breath weak, but he managed a clearer voice this time, "Help the other soldier, the one having trouble breathing."
There was a flash of concern on Leliana's face, but it was for such a brief moment he thought he might have imagined it. "You're the only one we found here, Cullen; there is no other soldier. Now, listen to me. The fight is still ongoing. We've got chunks of debris and more raining down on us, so we're going to have to move you, but your back…"
"Broken," he agreed, jerking his head in the affirmative, "I can feel it just around my shoulder blades. And everything below that is numb." He had done his best to avoid confirming it, and tried not to think about it too much even now. He needed to focus on what was right before him, the task at hand, and leave what he couldn't change for someone else to handle. She said they were going to have to move him. No doubt it was going to hurt. He set his jaw and prepared as best he could to endure it. "Do what you must."
She nodded, knowing she should have expected just such an answer from a Templar, even a former one. "Here, bite down on this." She pushed a folded leather belt into his mouth, separating his teeth so he wouldn't inadvertently bite his tongue if the pain should get too much to bear. He clamped his jaw down firmly, gave her a nod, and waited.
"Move him carefully. Watch for any pieces of damaged armor; we wouldn't want to make matters worse. Carefully, now. Looks good. Set him on his front, so we won't have to roll him over again later. Still with me, Commander? Good. Easy now, let's lighten the load if we can, remove whatever of his armor isn't damaged. Can we get his helmet off…"
Cullen felt the tug on his head as the helmet was lifted free. The fresh air was cool against his scalp, soothing, like Peredura's fingers raking his hair while they kissed. He focused on the calming vision, able to separate himself from the excruciating pain threatening to rip him in two, straight down his spine. Peredura, his love, his life, the smell of lilacs in her hair, soft brown eyes peeking out at him, nipping her lip whenever she was troubled…
Leliana kept one eye on his face while directing the others, and was very thankful when he lost consciousness—at least he was no longer feeling the pain. After they had him as comfortable as possible on the stretcher, she took a closer look at his back. She could see the hole through his armor, near the top of his back, the pain he complained about. A mercy in disguise, she believed, as there was more damage to his armor all the way down his back.
"All right, let's get him to the surgery."
"Inquisitor!" Josephine's voice called out.
Peredura was walking only a little unsteadily, leaning on Sera, and a bandage bracing her ribcage. She was bruised and battered and tired but otherwise whole. Fear pranced along behind them, keeping an eye on his partner, ready to jump in if needed. As she and her companions walked out of the resettling debris of what again had been the Temple of Sacred Ashes, she looked ahead to see Josephine standing on the road. She waved with her free arm, the momentum of swinging nearly unstabilizing their precarious balance, causing the other elf to snark, "Oi! Watch where you're pointin' that thing, wouldcha? It's still loaded."
Peredura looked at her left hand and noted the Anchor was glowing slightly. "Oops, sorry. Let me fix that. Wouldn't want to open a rift up by accident, would we?"
"Nope," Sera shook her head, stumbling them forward once more. "'Nuff stuff been through already, righ'? Endin' wi' old zombie-puss hisself!"
Peredura nodded soberly, her eyes locked with Josephine while she listened to Sera's chortle. She wanted to laugh, she needed to laugh, in spite the Orb being destroyed, or Solas' leaving, or the heart wrenching foreboding tickling at the back of her thoughts—what happened to Cullen?—victory was theirs and they should be celebrating, damn it! They should be cheering and drinking and singing and dancing… As if Sera read her mind, she started swinging them around. Peredura winced, her hand letting go of Sera to brace her ribs.
"Take it easy, Boss," Iron Bull mumbled, his hand at her back. "Stitches said he was going to set up a surgery. Let's get you there and to a healing potion, fix those ribs right up." If there was an ulterior motive within his suggestion, she refused to notice it.
But Josephine would not be ignored. "Inquisitor," she repeated in a firmer tone and more reasonable volume, now that they were closer. Her face was somber, almost sad, and mixed with a good dose of concern, and did not go at all towards helping matters. Now that it was over… now that Corypheus was destroyed… now that there would be no more plans to puzzle through and outmaneuver…
The look in Josephine's eyes threatened to freeze her heart. Her voice was nearly inaudible as she leaned in and hummed, "Peredura…"
"It's over, Josephine," she headed her off, hoping that if she stalled for long enough the news wouldn't be so bad. Free from Sera, she settled her arm around Josephine's shoulders and began to walk with her, Fear obediently in tow. "Corypheus is destroyed."
"Whoosh!" Sera stepped away, feeling her friend's weight lifted from her shoulders. She spun and danced into Dorian, who for once graciously caught the slight elven rogue and steadied her on her feet. "Felt that one, didn' I. Harry's no' too heavy, mind, just a bit awkward, ya know, on account of her being another, and me used to only carryin' the weight of me, not me plus another."
"After tonight, I think we are all feeling just a bit unsteady," Dorian allowed. "I never noticed it before, but it truely is quite pleasant to simply walk on ground that is connected to, well, the ground."
She cackled again, "Good one, magey-wagey."
"Hardly," he rolled his eyes, "And I'll ask again, are you sure you didn't hit your head?"
"Where is Peredura?" Cassandra broke in. "Wasn't she with you?"
"She was, and now she wasn't," Sera snarked.
"Did you drop her by the roadside or something?" The Seeker ground out between her teeth.
"Take it easy, guys," Iron Bull stepped in. "Josephine met us on the road. She had news for the Boss. I think they're making for the surgery."
"Just how do you know all that?" Vivienne inquired with a delicately trimmed raised eyebrow. "What news could Josephine have for her? We're the ones with the news."
Bull blew a hard breath out of his nose, sounding much like his namesake. "Because something else happened tonight. Look, when we first started climbing, and all those pieces started moving and floating and breaking apart, and we kinda got separated for a bit. Well, I was behind the Commander when I saw him lose his footing and… fall. I don't know how far it was. Soon as I could, I started looking for him. The Boss saw me, saw that he wasn't there, and… well, she can put two and two together, too. When we spotted him, he was lying face up, looking… broken is the only way I can describe it. He lifted up a hand, you know, sort of signalling the all clear or something. She wanted to go back down to him, but I, ah," he paused to rub at the patch over his blind eye, "I told her he had to be all right, because he was waving, and that meant we could go on our way, focus on defeating Corypheus, and not to worry about him. Had to do it, didn't I? I had to get her to leave the Commander behind. I had to."
They all fell silent, no one wanting to imagine the pain and guilt he was feeling, lying to the Inquisitor. Or imagining what Cullen must have felt, broken and injured, but putting on a brave face so the woman he loved would go do what she must do, though he could possibly die alone and unnoticed.
Or what Peredura must be facing now, coming back from victory, only to learn the man she loved was…
"Broken, tossed aside, but her favorite. Must be mended, somehow, or who will dance with her." Cole's voice was eerie in the wee hours of the morning.
As if coming out of a trance, they looked around at each other, assessing, discussing, and finally agreeing on a course of action, not a word having to be spoken. Without any further delay, everyone fell into step and started for the surgery tents.
Josephine held aside the tent flap, but Peredura found herself unable to step inside. She stood at the entrance, the haziness of predawn blurring the background behind her, the tent before her lit up brightly with lanterns shining full. She heard Josephine mumble something encouraging, but she simply could not take another step. It would be too final, affirming that Cullen had been badly injured…
…and she had left him to die alone. "I can't…" she whispered, trying not to register what her eyes were showing her.
"You can," Josephine answered, placing a hand at her back, not to shove, but simply to let her know someone was there, she was not alone, and neither was Cullen. "Fear, wait with me. You can see him, later. Go on, Peredura, he's expecting you."
Peredura took a deep breath, then a step, then another and felt the movement of air as the tent flap closed behind her. He wasn't hard to spot, but that didn't make matters any easier. He was set off to the side, given some privacy from the rest of the tent thanks to a screen. Someone was with him, sitting on the floor to be closer to eye level for him. It was Leliana, talking calmly, every now and then pausing to wait for him to answer. She could see their faces, Leliana with her hood pushed back to her shoulders, Cullen with his cheek resting on the top of a table.
As she stepped around the screen, she felt her breath freeze in her lungs, threatening to turn her heart to ice. He had been laid on a table, face down, his arms hanging over either side and strapped to the legs of the table, another strip of leather crisscrossing over his shoulders, immobilizing them. His armor and jacket were gone, his tunic ripped to hang partially trapped by the straps securing him in place. His back was covered by several long strips of linen, all of it stained an angry red, all down his spine. His legs were free but still, his boots removed and his feet dangling off the other end of the table. Unmoving.
"…Pere…?"
She jerked her eyes away from the ruin of his back, but she knew the worry and concern and fears were evident on her features. She tried not to look him in the eyes, tried to look at Leliana or the ground or anything else! Blessed Andraste…!
"That bad?"
His voice was hoarse, pained, exhausted, enduring. And she didn't know how to answer. False hope? Overly bright? Outright lie?
"Pere, I… I know… I know, I can feel it, or not feel it rather. Come here, take my hand, I know…"
"…Cullen…!" She fell to her knees beside him, gripping his hand with both of hers, pressing her forehead against his. He tried to shift his head around to press his lips against her face, but he couldn't quite manage the angle. She found some short burst of laughter irreverently within her, and had to snark, "I should be the one comforting you, not the other way around."
She looked up at his face finally and tried to smile.
"You know I've never been one to seek comfort or empty platitudes."
She smiled, nodded, giving a slow blink as she did so, her eyes bright with moisture but held in check. "Well, then, down to business. Where is Stitches? Shouldn't he be here doing… something?"
"He's been," Cullen answered, but Leliana spoke over him.
"The Commander has multiple fractures along his spine and ribs. The damage is… more extensive than what Stitches is comfortable dealing with. The closest available healer is with Saunders and those troops, and they're a couple of hours away. We've sent word that the healer is to get here with all possible speed, but all we can do now is wait. And, in the meantime," she grunted as she reached her feet, "We are to keep the Commander awake and alert. I'll leave that to you, now that you're here."
"Awake and…" Peredura shook her head, "Wait, I don't understand. Why can't we let him rest. Surely, that would be kinder than keeping him awake and…"
"…and in pain," he finished for her, but the ladies were ignoring him for the moment.
"He has a concussion," Leliana explained. "A severe one. We have to keep him awake until it can be dealt with."
"Why not just deal with it?" She pressed. "Give him a healing potion for the concussion and allow him to rest peacefully until the healer arrives."
"Because I can't target a healing potion," Stitches answered, coming around the screen. He made a show of checking Cullen's bindings and injuries as he continued explaining. "If I give him anything for the concussion, it'll start to heal all his injuries, and his back is going to require more than just mending bones and muscle. Things are… out of place right now. They have to get into place before he's given a potion, and I'm not sure I can do that. I'd rather have the healer handle something this big, so we're waiting until she arrives. Until then," he bent down closer to their heads, "Keep him awake."
Peredura had to close her eyes briefly, fighting back the tears and anguish. "I understand," she nodded, opening them once more and trying to bolster her determination.
"I, ah," Stitches scratched the side of his nose, "I suppose I could give him a poultice, for his head, something to help with the localized pain, but that's the most I can do. I'm sorry, Your Worship."
She nodded, holding Cullen's gaze. He was looking at her but a bit out of focus, his mouth having turned slack and a bit of drool pooling at the corner of his lips. The severity of the situation hit her full force, and she had to swallow her emotions and fears. "I understand, Stitches, and I apologize. I should have trusted you knew exactly what you were doing."
"Well," he patted her shoulder, "Well, this was a bit of a shock. I'll just put a little something together for him and be right back."
Peredura nodded again, but she was more focused on her love. "Cullen?"
He didn't seem to hear her right away. After the third time she called his name, he gave a small shudder—what he could while being restrained so tightly—blinked, and focused on her face. "…Pere…?"
"I'm here, Cullen."
"Don't worry, Pere," he paused to swallow. "Take my hand. I know, it looks bad… don't worry… just take my hand…"
"I am, Cullen," she gave his hand a squeeze, worried that the numbness might be spreading. When his calloused hand squeezed back, strong and almost too brutal, she felt a bit of her fears subsiding.
"He's been like that," Leliana spoke softly for her ears only. "Repeating himself, asking the same questions, not remembering what you tell him. I'm told that it's nothing to be concerned about, just so long as we keep him talking, keep him awake, he'll be fine."
"You mean, his head will be fine," she clarified. The next moment she hung her head, "I'm sorry, Leliana." She looked up at her Spymaster, "I'm scared and worried, but I shouldn't take it out on you."
"Think nothing of it," she graciously forgave.
"But… is that your lipstick on his lips?"
"Whose lips?" Cullen mumbled.
"I, ah, well," Leliana coughed, "When we found him, he wasn't breathing. I did what I had to, that's all, I swear."
Peredura managed to find a bit of humor in that and hung on tight, her silent laughter moving her shoulders though not much more than that. "Oh, good. Just so long as you weren't kissing him. I might have to take exception to that."
She smiled knowingly, "Fraternizing amongst the ranks is frowned upon, right?"
Peredura looked at her with the most innocent expression she could muster. "Correct, that's exactly what I was referring to."
"I want to kiss you," he added, "But I can't seem to reach you, Pere."
Now it was her turn to cough.
Leliana did her best to avoid drawing attention to the deep blush setting the Inquisitor's face on fire. "I'll leave our Commander in your very capable hands, Your Worship. I want to check on the estimated time of arrival of that healer."
"Thank you, Leliana," she inclined her head, ignoring the knowing smirk on the other woman's lips. Instead, she turned her attention back to Cullen and his lips. "Let's get rid of that, shall we?"
"Rid of what?" He could only mumble as her thumb, moistened by her own tongue, tried to rub off the last of the lipstick from around his mouth. She stayed still a little too long, and he managed to briefly suck her thumb into his mouth and lick it.
"Stop that," she scolded, but without any heat.
"You won't let me kiss you," he pouted, "So I had to kiss your thumb."
She shook her head, "You really are out of your wits."
He tried to give her that smirk, but with half his face pressed against the table he couldn't manage to pull it off. "That's due to your intoxicating presence."
"Ah-hum, excuse me," Stitches tried to announce his presence before coming around the screen. He handed her a small pouch of herbs soaked in some sort of salve. "The poultice for his head. Just rest it on top, no pressure, and try to keep him from moving his head and upsetting it. I've got to go see to some other patients, but I'll check in on him as soon as I am able."
"Other patients?" She wondered. "I thought most everyone had been cut off, that it was just my small group that were in the fight."
"Yes, well, that was the case. Until your Honor Guard arrived and tried to find a way up to you. Couldn't, but a few of them were hit by falling debris before that one, ah, Fergus, finally gave the command to back off. Devensport couldn't give the order; he'd already been knocked off his feet and incapacitated. They'll be fine, Your Worship," he patted her shoulder with a small bottle for her to take, "Just like you once you drink this. Yeah, I can see the brace around your chest and the way you favor your side. Cracked ribs, huh. Drink up every drop, good girl."
"You make the best tasting healing potions," she held on to the vial after finishing it, her eyes twinkling mischievously.
"Flattery won't help," he tweaked her nose before taking the bottle out of her hands. "He's still not getting a potion. Keep the poultice in place, keep him talking, don't worry if he doesn't make sense. I'll be back soon as I can."
Accepting defeat, she nodded her acquiescence. "I will, Stitches. And thank you."
"Don't thank me," he shrugged before moving off, "Save it for the healer when she gets here."
"I don't need a healer," Cullen mumbled, "Just a potion should fix me right up. Pere? Wait, is that you?"
She tried to ignore the fact he couldn't seem to hold on to his short term memories. "I'm here, Cullen."
"Is it… is it over, then?"
She tried to smile for him, "It is. Corypheus is destroyed."
"Good, tell me all the details. I know I had promised to be with you, this time," he grimaced, "But…"
"It's all right, Cullen, it couldn't be helped."
"Tell me everything," he encouraged, hungry for news, for a story, for anything to help keep his mind off of his pain, "Leave nothing out."
"I will…"
She began her tale, describing every detail she could remember, even the awful stench of the ruined orb, or the macabre shape of Corypheus' face after she had broken his jaw. She didn't mind repeating herself, or going back over something whenever he looked lost or confused. She started over twice, each time after he suddenly looked at her as if seeing her for the first time that night. She put on a brave face, and smiled, and talked away the hours.
It was midday, the sun high in the sky and her stomach alerting her to the fact that she had now missed several meals, before she heard the commotion. She wanted to peek out from around the screen to see, to confirm with her own eyes, and leaned back to try.
"Pere?" Cullen asked her. "What is it? What's happened?"
He'd been getting more coherent as the day continued, and she turned back to answer him, "I think the healer's just arrived. Listen."
"He was moved?" A woman's voice asked.
"We had to," Leliana answered. "There was debris falling all around him. We tried not to jostle him too much, but we had to bring him here."
"Unfortunate," the stranger's voice hummed, "But understandable. Behind this screen, here?"
"Yes," Stitches was the first around the corner, closely followed by the mage, Leliana in tow. Peredura stood up and turned to face them, thinking she should back away and give them room to work, but at the same time loathe to leave Cullen's side. She kept a hand on his arm, just beneath his shoulder, letting him know she was still there.
Stitches pulled the linen off Cullen's back, exposing the severity of his injuries for the mage healer. "There are at least fourteen fractured bones that I can tell, and severed nerves and…"
"It's the Commander." The mage's voice was flat, dead, cold, like the grave. She stopped approaching the table so suddenly that Leliana nearly plowed into her back. Taking no notice of the others, the healer crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared down at the broken man before her.
"Yes…" Peredura answered, cautious and concerned over the sudden change in the woman's demeanor. "He fell some distance, we're not sure how far, and landed on his back. It's broken…"
The mage shook herself, as if coming out of a trance. Her face was hard, her lips set, as she looked up at Peredura and stated, "I respectfully decline to treat this man."
Peredura blinked at her. Her tone was very soft and quiet as she countered with, "What was that? I don't believe I heard you correctly."
"You did," the mage set her shoulders and lifted her chin. "I am not healing," she looked pointedly at Cullen, gesturing with her hand, "This man."
"I don't understand," Peredura shook her head, "Why the fuck not!"
The healer's nostrils flared, but she kept herself wrapped in her icy indignation. "He is the Commander, Cullen Stanton Rutherford. Formerly Knight-Commander of Kirkwall."
"I was a Captain at Kirkwall," he clarified, "After Knight-Commander Meredith became corrupted by red lyrium, then I assumed the role of acting Knight-Commander. I was never a full…"
"Doesn't matter," she slashed her hand through the air like a blade. "You were there when the Circle was betrayed, when it collapsed. You were just as responsible for killing the mages as every other Templar there. Including my childhood friend, Meric."
The silence that followed this judgment was enervating. Cullen swallowed, obviously remembering the name, and nodded. "I was there," he admitted. "I am responsible."
She took a step forward, her breathing heavy, her face screwed up in a gloating sneer, "You can go to the Void!"
Suddenly she straightened up and spun on her heels, her robes swirling dramatically about her, and swept out of their presence.
It took several heartbeats before Peredura finally found her voice. "What the fuck…!"
"Pere…" Cullen tried to reach her, but he was still restrained.
"Get her ass back in here!" Peredura demanded, pointing at the retreating healer.
"Don't judge her…" he tried yet again.
"Leliana, go, drag her back here in chains if you have to, but force her to heal Cullen!"
"Peredura!" he barked in the best parade voice he could manage. She spun, just as outraged as the mage had been, and sent him a challenging look. He closed his eyes, trying to find some way to explain without saying everything. "Pere, don't hold her responsible."
"Responsible?" She ranted. "Responsible for what? She's not doing anything; that's the problem!"
"You weren't there," he continued, undaunted by her ire. "You've never been through a Circle falling. I have—twice. There were… atrocities committed, by both sides, and yes, unfortunately, some innocents were killed. Dondaelous has every right to be angry."
"You know her name?" Peredura, shocked, dropped to her knees beside him once more, taking his hand, stroking his hair.
"I remember all their names." His voice overflowed with remorse and pain, but he forced himself to continue. "Dondaelous belonged to another Circle, but she and Meric were close friends. I often saw her visiting him in Kirkwall. And no," he swallowed, "I don't believe he was one of the mages who turned to blood magic that day, but he was killed. By a soldier under my command. I am responsible, at least in part. And if it eases her suffering to hold me accountable, then I accept."
She was shaking her head. "Cullen, no, you don't know what you are saying, you need her to heal you…"
"Stitches," he called out to the Charger's surgeon. "Do what you can for me, will you?"
"No…" she moaned, "Please, Cullen, let me get her back in here and make her…"
"You'll do no such thing!" He barked at her. "Listen to me, Pere." He felt her try to slip away, and he clutched at her hand all the harder, holding her on her knees before him. "Listen! You were not there. You have never experienced such a horrific event. And you have no right to sit in judgment over her, no grounds on which to condemn her."
"But," she bit her lip, tears spilling out over her cheeks, "She's condemning you to a life of…"
"No, have a little more faith in Stitches and his skills. He fixed your leg. He'll do well enough on my back. Pere, whatever happens," he continued to squeeze her hand, "Whatever the outcome, do not hold it against Dondaelous. Promise me. You will not hold the mage responsible. Promise."
She most certainly did not want to promise, but she knew he would not take no for an answer. And her hand was hurting. And he'd waited long enough to be tended to. And Stitches was just standing there, waiting, hoping someone would eventually tell him what to do. More tears fell from the corners of her eyes, "I promise."
He nodded, "Thank you, Pere. You should go now. I don't want you to see this. Stitches?"
"Like he said, Madam Inquisitor," the surgeon stepped forward and held out his hand for her, "You don't need to be here for this part. I'll do my best, I promise, but it's going to take some time. Try to get some rest. You've been up all night and most of the day."
She took his hand, but before she stood up she placed one more kiss on Cullen's cheek. "I'll be near, if you should need me."
"I love you, too," he whispered back to her, his eyes watching her as she stood, and turned, and walked away, refusing to blink until she had passed out of sight.
She could feel it, his gaze on her, but she refused to turn around and show him her tear-streaked and blotchy cheeks. She was going to be strong for him. For whatever the outcome. She walked outside, not caring or seeing who was around her or where she was going. She walked, feeling the cold mountain air sting her cheeks. She walked, hearing the hard packed snow crunch beneath her boots. She walked, until she felt someone's shoulder bump against hers.
"Hey, Boss…" Iron Bull's voice was unreasonably quiet for his size.
She didn't answer or even acknowledge him.
"Um, okay, so, we all saw the healer arrive, and then, um, leave…"
She stopped finally, and so quickly that Iron Bull barely had the time to stop and remain at her side. "I'll try," she whispered, "I promised him I would try, but it's too fucking hard. Fasta vass…"
"Take it easy," Dorian said from her other side, sweeping in close and speaking quietly when he heard her curse in Tevine. "Take a breath. We don't know what happened, but..."
"Nothing," she moaned, shaking her head. "Nothing happened. She took one look at Cullen and refused to help him!" She was turning towards them now, gesticulating with her hands, angry and hurt and scared and…
"Hold on, Boss," Iron Bull set his hand on her shoulder, "Like Dorian said, take another breath, then tell us what happened."
She sniffed, sniffed again, then gave up and wiped her face on her sleeve. Absently she noted the outside of her jacket was still torn up from when the shockwave hit Skyhold—how long ago was that? "I need a change of clothing."
"We can get that for you," Iron Bull nodded to Vivienne. "Do you need anything else? Did Stitches get you that healing potion for your ribs?"
"Yes," she nodded. "I'm fine, The Iron Bull, but Cullen…" she shook her head. "I don't understand it, why or how, but he does, and he's accepted his fate. He said I should, too, and not blame her, but it's too hard right now, not when I know she can help him but won't, and Stitches is good, but…"
"Yeah, we're still only getting part of the story here."
She looked up at the big gray Qunari, and several more tears slipped past her lashes. She wiped at them, remembered again that she needed a change, but tried to force things out. "I'm trying, but it doesn't even make sense to me, so how can I explain it to you."
"Don't try to explain it," Blackwall offered, "Just tell us what happened."
She looked around her finally, at all her friends, her companions, her confidantes. Even several of her Honor Guard were about, close enough to assist though far enough away to give the illusion of privacy. She smiled for them, or tried to, and leaned her backside against a convenient tree trunk. "Dondaelous—that's her name, the healer—she had a friend in Kirkwall when that Circle fell. A mage friend. And since it's well-known that Cullen was in Kirkwall, that he even led the Templars who tried to subdue the mages… well, her friend, Meric, was killed."
She didn't see the color drain from Fergus' face at the mention of the friend's name.
"And she holds Cullen responsible for it. So she 'respectfully declines' to heal him."
Fergus took a step backwards.
"And he accepts it. He just accepts the fact that she won't heal him. And he wants me to do the same, but it's too fucking hard!"
"Language," Vivienne chastised, though tenderly, "Even though you're amongst your closest friends, you should still be aware of eavesdroppers in such a public setting.
Fergus took another couple of steps backwards.
"Where'd she go?" Sera pulled out an arrow and fingered the tip suggestively. "I'd like a chance to 'talk' with 'er, see iffin' she won't change her mind."
"No, Sera," Varric touched her arm, carefully. "It's not your place, nor mine, nor anyone else's to tell someone what to do. I was there, too, you know, with Hawke. I had to stand there and watch him take Anders' life. And I saw what those mages did when they turned to blood magic. And watched as Knight-Commander Meredith succumbed to red lyrium. A lot of shit happened that day, hard-to-forget kind of shit, hard-to-deal-with kind of shit. Peredura, I know you don't want to hear this, but I can understanding why she might blame Cullen for what happened. It's not like she can find out which Templar killed her friend, and Cullen was essentially in charge at that point, so yeah" he shrugged, "Unfair, and not very nice, but I can accept how she feels that way."
Fergus was at the back of the group now, and turned away.
"Where you off to, Fergus?" Devensport's voice was quiet out of respect for her Worship and the others.
"I, ah, that is, I have to, um," he hedged, not sure if he could put it into words.
"Maker's Breath, man," Devensport slapped him on the shoulder, "If you have to go take a piss, then just go. There's enough of us around to protect her from any straggling Venatori."
Fergus felt relief for the simple excuse. "Thank you, Ser, excuse me." Then he was off, his pace increasing into a trot, his armor jangling like a kitchen as he looped around the area. He was sure he had seen the direction the healer had taken, and was correct, finding the mage standing in front of a campfire, staring broodily into the flames.
He slowed his pace, but she heard him and looked up at his approach. Her eyes narrowed as she assessed him, obviously taking in his armor and insignia for what they were meant to represent, and sneered, "What do you want, Templar?"
"It's Honor Guard, now," he nodded, "Sergeant, but that's not important."
She sniffed, but other than warming her hands by the fire she made no further acknowledgement of his presence.
"I, ah, need to tell you something. I need to tell you that you're wrong."
She looked directly at him when he said this, her hard eyes red with unshed tears of remembered pain. "Oh? And just who the fuck are you to tell me that?"
"You are wrong," he swallowed, "And I am the one who should know, because I am the one who killed Meric."
She stopped rubbing her hands, staring at him now, hardly daring to breathe.
"I was at Kirkwall, too, when Knight-Commander Meredith goaded First Enchanger Orsino into resorting to blood magic. It was wrong, all of it, but we did what we must. I was with the party that came across Meric. He was with two other mages who were using blood magic. Once they were dispatched, Meric, he, he hadn't used blood up to that point. But he looked like he was about to. I ordered him to stand down, to surrender. I promised he would not be harmed. But he… he looked at the blood… his hands moved…" Fergus had to pause and swallow the lump from his throat. "It was not my finest hour. I'll freely admit that. But I saw him move, I saw what looked like he was about to use blood magic, and I killed him before he had the chance. I killed Meric, my blade, not the Commander. If you're going to blame anyone, blame me, hate me, hit me, kill me even, but do not make another man suffer for my sins. I beg you. Please."
Dondaelous hadn't moved during his whole recitation, possibly she couldn't, but when he begged her, when he touched her arm, she recoiled in disgust, hissing. Fergus stood there, waiting, praying he had reached her, when…
Her fist flew at his face, connecting solidly with his jaw.
Fergus was rocked back, put off balance, and landed with a hard thud on his backside. He sat there in shock, staring up at her slack jawed, as she danced and spun around, holding her hand, wincing.
"Fuck, but you've got a hard head! Oh, why oh why did I do that? I need this hand, damn it! And that really hurt. Oh, ow, ow, ow, ow." She finally stopped dancing with pain and remembered she was a healer, after all. She healed her hand, sighing with relief when it was all better, then looked down at him.
He continued to stare at her.
"All right," she said at last. "I believe you. The Commander is not to blame for Meric's death. You, however," she bent over and loomed above him, wagging her finger in his face, "You disgust me!" She made a rude noise at the back of her throat, then spat on him.
He could only sit, immobile, in the snow and mud.
She left him there, stunned, and started for the surgery. Perhaps she could get back in time before Stitches did too much damage trying to heal the Commander himself.
Peredura felt alone. Surrounded by her closest friends, all of whom were talking quietly, in tender tones, about nothing important, just a low hum of camaraderie to let her know they were there for her.
But she was alone.
Beyond her companions was a solid circle of her Honor Guard, men and women who had served with her, fought with her, protected her, and of course watched over her, as they were watching over her now. Seen, near, a comfort, and refuge.
Yet she was alone.
Vivienne and Josephine had found a change of clothing for her. Dorian had bullied Iron Bull into helping him obtain a bucket of warm water. Varric had even managed to scrounge up a bar of soap. Sera and Blackwall had cobbled together a tent of sorts out of several capes and a few blankets to give her some privacy while she freshened up, Cassandra using the time to clean and polish her boots. All in all, she was cared for, looked after, somewhat fussed over.
And she was still alone.
Alone, and silent, within her circle of friends. Everyone else talking, but no one talking with her. Not that they hadn't tried—no, the fault lay with her. She was still, responding only minimally when they tried to engage her in conversation, her eyes focused on what only she could see.
Her heart, her breath, her emotions, her life—everything held suspended, waiting, not even daring to hope or imagine or dream or consider what was going to be the outcome of…
She swallowed, blinked, and wrapped her arms a little tighter around herself, feeling the cold grow as the evening turned darker.
It was taking so long…
At the first twitch of the tent flap, she responded, lifting her chin a little, her eyes rising to meet the feet of whoever stepped out, her posture straightening ever so slightly. The flap opened fully, and her eyes followed up the legs and chest and finally the face to see Stitches. He looked tired, an old towel in his hands that he was using to hastily wipe off blood. He swallowed, opened his mouth, but Josephine was quicker.
"Well, what news? Is he…?"
He took a breath and opened his mouth again, intending to respond, but again was interrupted.
"It's too soon," Peredura spoke. "It should have taken longer. All night, perhaps. That means…" She started walking forwards, not thinking, not feeling, only acting. "I'm going to see him."
"Your Worship," he caught her elbow as she tried to squeeze past him. "The healer is with him now. Give her a few moments, all right?"
His words stopped her in her tracks. Her eyes were lost, hurt, scared, daring only now to begin to consider the possibility of hope. She stared at him, her breath quickening, her dry lips parted and slack. "The… healer…?" She managed after a few heartbeats.
"Yes, she came back in just now. Didn't look too happy, and was flexing the fingers of one of her hands, but kicked me out so she could, as she put it, 'fix whatever I was fucking up,' her words, not mine. She sounded pissed off, but she looked like she was determined to help the Commander. So, sure," he shrugged, "I left."
Peredura looked from Stitches, to the tent flap behind him, and back again. "Dondaelous? She's healing Cullen? Are you sure?"
The Charger blew an exasperated snort out of his nose. "Said so, didn't I? Do you need your ears checked or something?"
She shook her head, but it wasn't clear if she was answering his rhetorical question, or if it was in disbelief. She hesitated a moment longer, then very firmly and determinedly removed her elbow from his grasp. "Excuse me, Stitches, but I am going inside. Now."
Wisely, he let go.
She pushed through the gap between the flaps, the only sound in the tent being the soft swish as the heavy folds closed behind her. There was no other conversation from anyone else, no banter between healer and patient, no moans of pain or sighs of relief. Trying not to feel fear or apprehension, Peredura stepped further into the tent.
Dondaelous stepped out from behind the screen. She looked up and their eyes locked. No words were spoken, no accusations, no apologies, no questions, no answers. The mage was the first to break eye contact, looking down and to the side, her cheeks turning a little flushed. She started walking again, towards Peredura, and reached her side.
"The damage was extensive," she began, her tone soft. "Nerves and muscles severed and out of place. That surgeon was doing all he could to try to stabilize him, but he would never have been able to do enough. I, ah," she paused, trying to find the right words, "Well, even I could only do so much. The Commander will recover," she quickly added, not doubt in response to the troubled look on Peredura's features, "But it's going to take some time. Things… aren't going to work quite the same as they had before. He'll need to relearn a few finer movements, but it should come back to him in time."
Peredura nodded, as if she understood, but quite frankly she was a little lost. Yet the mage had come back, and had healed Cullen, and the least she could do was express her gratitude. "Dondaelous," she began, and waited until the other woman looked up and into her eyes, "Thank you."
Her blush deepened, and words abandoned her. She nodded, ducked her head, and left the tent.
Still, Peredura hesitated.
Everything was fine, she told herself, everyone was fine, maybe a little worse for wear, but…
…but she'd never know for certain until she went behind the screen. Allowing, at long last, hope to fill her chest, the emotion energized her limbs and set her in motion. She came around the corner of the screen and got her first sight of Cullen. He was sitting up with his back to her, and the first thing she noticed was the long, jagged, rough, pinkish fresh scar running the length of his spine. She swallowed, knowing the scar would fade in time, thinking how close he had come to death… She pushed that thought from her mind. Cullen was alive. And whole. And putting on a tunic, the fabric covering up the damage and snapping her out of her shock. She took another step and spoke softly, "Cullen?"
He twisted to look at her over his shoulder, and immediately grimaced. "Oh, that's uncomfortable," he mumbled, coming back to facing forwards as she came around to stand before him.
"Cullen?" She repeated.
Sitting on the table, he was a lot taller than usual, his legs hanging over the edge and his feet dangling almost a foot above the ground. Yet he bent over slightly, cupped her cheek, smiled, and answered, "I'm all right, Pere."
"Are you sure," she pressed, eager, anxious, needing to know, needing reassurance. "Just now, you…"
"I'm all right," it was his turn to repeat himself. "Dondaelous has marvelous skill. She warned me I'd be stiff and sore for a bit, and some things might not work they way they used to, but honestly what should I expect when my back gets broken in fourteen places. Everything works, Pere," he assured her, noting the wrinkle on her forehead as he talked about his injuries. "I can feel my legs, see?" He swung them back and forth, one to either side of her. "I can move. I can even stand." He hopped off the table as if to make his point.
Immediately his knees buckled and twitched. He grunted, groping behind him for the table even as Peredura stepped in and wrapped her arms around his chest. He put his free hand around her, and they stayed like that for a few moments, partially embraced, partially supportive, as he worked on gaining his balance.
"Right, well, as she warned me," he lifted an eyebrow in consideration, "She had to put me back together a bit differently. Things don't quite work the same, but they do work. I can manage that. Would you hand me that fresh pair of leggings?"
She leaned back from him, just enough to see his face, and answered, "No."
He saw the look in her eye, the flash of anger, and wondered what he had done now. "No?" He asked, warily.
"No," she shook her head. Then she slapped him smartly on the shoulder. "No, you ass! You git! You bastard!"
"My parents were married…"
"You have no right, do you understand me?" She continued, undaunted, ignoring his protests as she continued to slap him, not too harshly, but enough to add emphasis to her points. "You have no right to sacrifice yourself like that to some former noble cause. You are no longer a Templar, Cullen. You are no longer responsible for the suffering of mages, current or former or future. You are important to me… to the Inquisition! You are my Commander now, and necessary, and don't you ever—EVER!—dare risk being crippled, or worse—your life!—for some past guilt that isn't even yours. I know, no one speaks of the suffering of Templars. But you are not a Templar any longer. You don't even take lyrium anymore. You are Cullen! My… the Inquisition's Commander. And if you ever get hurt again, and the mage healer holds a grudge, then we send for one who doesn't! You are too important, Cullen. Do you understand me? Far too important!"
"I understand, Pere, I do, honest." He finally figured out enough of the new way his nerves and muscles were communicating to be able to stand without leaning on anything. He grabbed her wrists, held them, and waited for her to stop struggling to pull free. "I wasn't sacrificing myself or my ability to continue as your Commander."
"You were," she shook her head, "You were letting Stitches…"
"He was doing what he could for me, yes," Cullen nodded, "But I also asked Leliana to send for another healer, this time one without a grudge, as you put it. He was due to arrive by morning, but thankfully he's not needed now. Dondaelous came back. I'm healed. It's all right, now."
"You… you what? You sent for another healer?" Tears were in her eyes, making them glisten endearingly in the lamplight.
"I did," he confirmed, "But some things couldn't wait that long. So Stitches was doing what he could in the meantime. That's all." His eyebrows curved and his tone softened as he added, "I'm sorry I scared you."
He was so sincere, so repentant, Peredura felt a little ashamed that she had scolded him so harshly for something he hadn't done. But damn it, someone should have told her what was going on.
Yet he was whole. And she was standing in front of him. She put her head against his chest and finally managed to pull her wrists free so she could hold him.
He held her. He held her and rocked, slightly, not too much as he wasn't all that confident in his ability to keep his feet. He didn't think she was crying, but he did feel her shudder against him, and so he held her until the trembling stopped. "Better?" He kissed the top of her head.
She sniffed. "Yes. Next time, though, would you let me know there was a second healer coming?" She looked up at him, and he smiled down at her.
"I am at your command, Madam Inquisitor."
She laughed a little at that. "Here, let me get you your leggings before you catch cold."
She watched him as he got dressed, noticing the odd ways he moved, the hesitation, as if he was a child taking his first steps. In a way, she supposed he was, and with that in mind she wormed her way against his side once he was back in uniform, though without armor.
"Let's step outside, shall we?" He offered. "It's a bit stuffy in here."
"And everyone will want to see you," she agreed.
"Oh, wonderful," he groaned, "An audience."
"Our friends," she corrected, reaching for a tent flap as he reached for the other, "They've been keeping me company all afternoon and evening. And are as concerned for you as I am. And…"
"Great Maker!" Cullen exclaimed, having just stepped outside and into the night. "What happened to the sky?"
Varric chuckled. "Kinda cool, isn't it? Very colorful, at the very least. I guess the Inquisitor wasn't quite able to completely erase the Breach and left a scar behind. Hey… I got it. The Scar. That's what we'll call it."
"You're naming it The Scar?" Cassandra huffed. "That's presumptuous of you."
"Well, I am the writer in the group. Who else is qualified?"
Peredura drowned out the rest of the conversation, her head resting against Cullen's shoulder. "The Scar," she stated, her hand on Cullen's spine. "There have been a lot more of those, lately."
He kissed the top of her head, towards the back where it was a bit more discreet. "But that is all they are," he answered, "Scars. Remembrances. Lessons learned. Sacrifices made. Victories won." He kissed her again and hugged her shoulders. "Just a scar, though that one you made is a bloody big one."