Chapter Forty-Five: Aftermath

It wasn't fair.

What it was supposed to be, was to be over. Everything was supposed to be over, the fighting, the Venatori, the demons, the plots, the battles…

Peredura was fairly sure she was standing on her own two feet, and the magical ropes no longer twisted and bit into her flesh, but she could not make herself take a step.

It was supposed to be her and Cullen, the two of them forever, building his dream, sharing his dream, growing and loving and living.

A stiff leather glove grabbed her upper arm, another took hold of the empty sleeve on the other side, and they pulled. Automatically, her legs lifted and her feet advanced, keeping her from toppling over, taking those steps she had no will to take herself.

Deep inside she railed, she screamed, she swore and cursed and damned Nollatori.

A bit of opeigh was still in her mouth, sickly sweet and evil and fatal. Yet she could not stop herself, the reflex to swallow uninhibited by free will…

…a chunk of her life went missing…


It was eerily quiet.

Not completely, as a sort of muffled roaring filled his ears, as if he was underneath a waterfall but with a thick blanket wrapped around his head, an almost palpable thundering silence. Yet it was quiet enough he could possibly ignore the sounds and allow himself to slip back to sleep, a warm and contended sleep, with Peredura in his arms, nestled snugly against his body. Peredura… no, wait… there was something… something about… something urgent… something… wrong… happened…

"Peredura!"

Cullen might have shouted, it certainly felt like he had, yet it was too hard to tell with his ears simultaneously echoing with bells and feeling like they were packed solid with wool. Giving up on hearing, he tried blinking, but his vision was hazy and indistinct, detecting only furry shadows moving before a blinding white backdrop. Next he decided test his limbs, trying to gain his feet, still feeling urgency regarding Peredura even if he couldn't fully explain why. Memory was returning—slowly—much like wading through chest-deep molasses within his own mind. Ever the soldier, however, he defiantly strove forward, pushing himself, knowing he had to regain his wits along with his strength. He began his memory recovery with the tavern, the conversation about Hawke and his companions, then walking through town and down a side street…. It started as a trickle of memory, but like dominoes the next led to the next which led to the next even faster. The alley, the spell, the Mage, the brief skirmish, hanging suspended, bleeding, Peredura… and Nollatori taking her away under the influence of that damnable drug opeigh. He gritted his teeth, fighting against whatever infirmity held him, and clumsily got as far as his elbows. "I have to get after her!" The words were formed, he was sure if it, and he had given them breath, but he could only hear an odd rumble like distant thunder garbled through a helmet.

A firm hand settled gently against his chest before giving an equally gentle push. Such a feeble effort was more than enough to overcome his weakened state and drop him back onto the cobblestones. He tried to shove at the hand, but his limbs felt uncoordinated and flopped ineffectively around like wilted cabbage. He managed to weakly slap one hand at his captor's wrist, but his captor easily evaded his grasp. Said captor did, however, take Cullen's hand in his own, the grip firm and warm, though sadly lacking any sort of assistance with helping him up. Confused by the offer of comfort without help, he lifted his head, blinked several more times, and at long last Varric's face came into focus.

"Varric!"

The dwarf looked down to acknowledge Cullen. Varric didn't smile, but he did nod as if he had heard him. "Okay, Curly, you can stop shouting. You're a bit banged up right now, so just lie still until the healer arrives, all right?"

Cullen watched the lips move, but whatever the words were could not penetrate the deadness within his ears. Frustration boiled within him, frustration at his weakness, at Peredura's abduction, at Nollatori's sinister plans whatever they might be, at Varric's seemingly unconcerned attitude, and he found the strength to bark, "What!"

He watched Varric rub at his temple and take a deep breath before trying again to communicate. He held a finger in front of his mouth, signaling for silence. Cullen remained confused, unable to image why their current situation might call for stealth, but he did trust the dwarf, so he closed his mouth and tried not to fight to sit up. Nollatori was getting away, with Peredura, and he needed to get after them, but he was beginning to realize he was in no condition to do so just yet. He refused to allow the tears passage, but he could feel the sting of them, burning the backs of his eyes, shamed by his feebleness and weakness and impotence…

Something warm and soft pressed up against his side, carefully despite its large mass, and there was a short spell of hasty, puffy breaths fanning his cheek. Cullen gave a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle and opened his eyes to see the Mabari looming over him. He flung his other arm around the animal's neck and held on fast, all but burying his fingers in the short, coarse fur. Fear leaned in close, gave another round of sniffing at his face, but thankfully did not finish with a lick of his slobbery tongue. Instead, once he assured himself that Cullen was alive, he settled down on the cobblestones to wait.

Cullen was not so easily placated as the Mabari, but he was far less ambulatory. He tried to be patient, he tried to simply breathe and hope the ringing in his ears would cease once he calmed. He closed his eyes, willing the pain and the weakness and the ringing to fade away. Instead, something wet dropped onto his cheek, breaking his concentration. He let go of both Varric to touch at his cheek, and when he pulled his hand away, he stared at the drop of red that had appeared there. It looked like blood, but it couldn't have come from himself, nor the hound, so that left Varric.

He grabbed Varric's shoulder, gave it a shake to get his attention, and once Varric was looking down at him, Cullen immediately saw the source of the blood. He pointed first to his own nose, then to Varric's nose.

"Huh?" Varric saw the red on the other's hand and cheek, sniffed again for what had to be the hundredth time, and then realization struck him. He dabbed at his own nose, felt the tenderness of broken cartilage and the sticky warmth of his own blood. "Oh, damn, sorry about that Curly. Let me get that for you."

Cullen thought he could hear Varric's voice, but was fairly sure he was not quite yet fully understanding the words. At least, he didn't think Varric meant to say, 'The story boat in hurry left a heirloom.' He gave up trying to decipher it when Varric's sleeve filled his vision, wiping across his cheek. It moved away to find purchase at Varric's nose, preventing any more accidental drops.

"Where's that damn healer!" the dwarf demanded, his voice even more muffled behind his sleeve.

Abbets came limping into view. "Fergus is still knocked out. Devensport is keeping an eye on him. And the healer is coming," he stopped beside them, not even attempting to kneel down but instead bracing himself against the side of a building. "Along with the guard."

"Oh, wonderful," Varric rolled his eyes, "Just what we need. An audience."

"I thought you liked having an audience!" Cullen quipped, loudly. This time, he was fairly sure he had made sense of the others' words, but still didn't realize he was shouting.

"Easy, Curly," Varric winced at the noise, "You're making my headache worse."

"Who's hurt the worst?" a new voice called, feminine, and very succinct.

"Here," Varric waved the healer over to them. "He is. The blast went off right next to him and threw him against the building."

Cullen blinked up at the Mage and almost smiled in recognition, "Dondaelous!" Fear added a brief bark of acceptance before he padded back and out of the way, allowing her to approach Cullen.

The female healer, the one who had refused to heal his back after the final battle with Corypheus, moved to hover over Cullen. She held no reservations about healing him this time, her face void of emotions or urgency, calmly making a category of his injuries. She turned his head to take note of the bleeding from his ears, lifted the side of his jacket to see the slice from the knife and the bruising from the broken ribs. She leaned over him to gently palpate his thigh and hip. "You have done a number on yourself, haven't you?" she hummed, and with a gentle bedside manner teased, "Again. No matter. Everything looks reasonable enough to heal without too much difficulty, though no doubt you will find it uncomfortable. This will take a few moments, Commander, but it will go faster if you don't fight it. Try to lie still, save your strength for healing. Hush now, it'll be over in a moment or two." She pushed his arms back down to his sides, willing him to understand her even if he couldn't quite hear her. Varric's hand returned, this time to his shoulder, and immediately Cullen stilled.

A low growl rumbled from Fear, but nobody paid him any attention, their focus on the former Commander.

Dondaelous quickly murmured her gratitude to Varric for his help in calming her patient, then got to work. Her eyes glowed the light blue of lyrium, Cullen could see it this time as he was lying on his back, not his front as he had when his back was broken. The lightness of the color suddenly reminded him of Nollatori, and he felt a surge of fear and anxiety sweep through him—at the same time another rumble echoed within Fear's massive chest. It took all of Cullen's nerve to remain still, even though he wanted to push at Varric's hand, gain his feet, start moving… Then Dondaelous' spell hit him, passing from her hands into his body. At first if felt like a bucket if ice water was splashed over him, making him gasp and convulse. Then he had to stifle a grunt for the awkward sensation as bones mended, eardrums un-popped, bruises faded, skin stitched closed…

As abruptly as the spell had started, it left as soon as the healing was done. With the magic dissipated, his body relaxed fully, weak but whole, and unresisting as she rechecked his injuries. She turned his head this way and that, felt over his legs and hips, reached to run her hands over his torso, assuring herself that everything was healed…

Except for the cut.

"Hmm," Dondaelous hummed, noticing her patient's side had continued to slowly ooze red. She pulled back his jacket once more, spreading apart the sides of the rip in his tunic as she examined the wound. "This is… odd. What caused this wound? Certainly not the blast."

Fear moved off a few paces, his attention elsewhere, and this time let out a concerned whimper.

Varric registered on some level the hound's odd behavior, but right then Cullen was more immediate a concern. He had to swallow and drop his voice before answering, knowing this would be a sensitive topic for any mage, but even more so for her, "Blood magic."

Emotions flickered across even her schooled features before she could help it, overwhelming with remembered fear and pain and loss. Quickly and efficiently she regained her composure and nodded once. "I see. Yes, well, I'll be back, once I've tended to the others. And you, of course, right now." Her hand settled on Varric's shoulder, sending another healing spell, this time through him.

"Thanks," Varric sighed, his nose drying up, "But I wasn't hurt as badly as the rest."

"You were bleeding all over my patient," she lifted an eyebrow, daring him to defy her. When he remained silent to her satisfaction, she nodded and stood up. "Keep him still until I get back. Do you understand me, Commander," she set a hard gaze against Cullen's hazel eyes. "I know you can hear me now, but do you understand me? Stay here until I return."

He blinked in response.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Varric watched her move off, Fear anxiously trotting before her. When she stopped at Abbets, the Mabari became agitated, pacing around almost anxiously. Not fully understanding the behaviors of Mabari, Dondaelous ignored him and focused on her next patient. The old former Templar suffered her attention, but was trying not to let the pain show. She would have none of it, just as she hadn't with Cullen or Varric, she was so focused and dedicated to her mission of healing. The dwarf watched her for a time, his hand on Cullen's shoulder, until he felt the other man move.

Again Fear barked, and again he was summarily dismissed.

"Varric," Cullen's thoughts had been scattered by the healing spell, but they were returning to him faster this time than the last. Probably because that damnable ringing in his ears had stopped. He started to try to sit up, now that he had been healed, but there was an odd sensation at his side. His hand flopped down there, tried to feel and pat at the area, only to encounter something warm and sticky and fresh. At first he had the thought that Fear had left behind a "present," but it was on his clothing, not the stones beneath him. He lifted his fingers to study the reddish stains, even as he continued to try to form a coherent sentence. "Varric, did you see… Bloody Void… which way… did anyone… why is there blood on my fingers?"

"Stay still, Cullen," Varric pressed a little harder against his shoulder, "The healer went to tend to the others before she comes back to finish with you, okay?"

Cullen swallowed, nodding his head, as the words coagulated into something coherent. He stopped trying to sit up, but he continued to palpitate his side, trying to feel the extent of the unusual wound. "You must be worried. You actually called me by my name, for once."

Varric shook his head, "Now's not the time for jokes…"

Fear's warning could no longer be denied, the hound letting loose with a long low growl that ended in a strained whine. At the same moment, a new voice could be heard, echoing up and down in the street.

"Blood! Blood magic! It was everywhere!" The voice belonged to Fergus, but didn't quite sound like his usual self. Instead it was tense and alert and alarmed and full of danger. Though he couldn't quite yet sit up, Cullen did turn his head so he could see what was happening. It was an odd angle, lying on the pavement as he was, but he could see where Fergus was sitting next to Delonce, Fear pacing and panting before the pair. The healer—for the second time that evening he recognized Dondaelous, forgetting that she had just healed him—was kneeling behind Fergus. She had been examining his shoulder, by the looks of it, but as soon as he had come to and started speaking, she stopped her work to listen. Judging by the tightness of her features and the stillness of her pose, she must have only at that moment recognized her current patient—Fergus' voice as well as the subject matter leaving no doubt behind. "Every mage was using it. They all were! He was going to use it, too, I swear he was, I saw it in his eyes, he looked at the blood of his fallen companions, so much blood, so much power, and he licked his lips, he looked at us, he was going to start a blood ritual, I SWEAR TO IT!"

"David? David! It's over now, David," Delonce was pleading with him, her hands holding him firmly from the side opposite his injury. "Look at me. Look at me! David! It's over. There is no more blood magic. The Circle fell, and the fight is over. It has been for years, David, please remember…"

"Nooooooo…!" Fergus groaned, dropping his face into his hands. "I failed. I failed my Captain. I failed the Circle. I failed Meric. I could see him, he hadn't given in, up until then, but the others were dead, and he was alone and afraid, I told him to stand down, just stand down and he wouldn't be harmed, I gave him my word, but…"

"Shit," Abbets sighed, coming over to where Cullen was lying and Varric was kneeling. "Don't know why, but Fergus is acting a bit off."

"Ya think?" Varric drawled. "What's going on with him?"

"Lyrium," Cullen answered simply, his tone stating how obvious it should be to everyone, as he looked away and eased his neck back into a more comfortable position.

Varric wasn't quite satisfied with such a laconic remark. "How the fuck did Fergus get his hands on lyrium?"

Cullen was tired of feeling so weak. He grunted as he rolled onto his injured side and pushed himself up, curling in his legs until he managed a somewhat awkward sitting position. Earlier, his well-trained gaze and quick mind had taken stock of the situation in one glance, and without turning back around he was able to provide the answer. "Delonce's lyrium kit is over there, open. He must have taken some during the fight. Aarghhh! Damn this wound!"

His voice carried further than anticipated, reaching the other group several yards away. Fergus reacted immediately, puzzling Dondaelous, who had never seen him in such a fevered state, but saddening Delonce, who was quickly remembering helping him through a similar madness around two years ago, and worrying Fear, who wanted to help but couldn't get close enough to calm the former soldier.

"Captain!" Fergus called, struggling, trying to get out of Delonce's grip and reach his feet. The Mage snapped out of her shock and did her best to help the Templar keep hold of the man-turned-lunatic. His head was snapping back and forth, neck craning and twisting, as he searched for someone or something. "Captain! Where are you? I'm here. I tried! I tried, I swear to you! But I failed! I failed you! I failed Meric! I failed them all! Captain…!"

Cullen and Abbets exchanged a look before Abbets very slowly and carefully shifted to hide Cullen's form from Fergus' view.

"Uh, I don't know what we should do," Varric hummed quietly, "But we better do something quick. The guards that came with Dondaelous have stayed back as we asked, but they are looking like they want to step in now."

"First," Abbets spoke even softer, "Let's get 'him,'" he nodded to Cullen, "Around the corner here and out of sight. Sorry, Ser."

Cullen didn't speak, too concerned that Fergus might hear him again, might recognize his voice. Too concerned that he, Cullen, would send Fergus further into his insane vision. He allowed the other two to half carry him the few yards to the corner of a building, undoubtedly the one he had smacked into after the blast, and out of sight of Fergus.

Cullen grabbed Abbets' hand soon as they had him propped up against the wall. "You're going to have to take control of the situation," he said quietly, his voice barely carrying to their ears. "Quickly. Even though you don't actually have any authority anymore, act like you do, and the guardsmen will fall into line."

Abbets nodded, "Ser."

Varric watched him walk off, back to the scene being created by the former Templar, and asked, "What the fuck…?"

Cullen had one ear listening to Abbets give commands to the guards, attempting to take command. Thankfully, they seemed willing to follow him, even grateful there was someone else willing to take charge of something they didn't understand. In the same quiet voice he asked Varric, "What's happening? Can you see?"

Varric leaned back and to the side to look around the edge, watching the tableau unfold. "Looks like the soldiers are going to do what Abbets is telling them, cleaning up the mess and holding the perimeter, not that there's any danger now. Wait, Abbets just reached Dondaelous. He's taking her by the arm, speaking to her quietly by the look of it, and… yup." He leaned back to look at Cullen. "Healer's coming this way again. Looks like Fear, though, has taken up residence at Fergus' side."

"That's for the best, at least for the moment," Cullen nodded, trying to find a comfortable spot against the rough hewn stonework of the building. "Fear has an uncanny ability to calm the madness. Right now, Fergus is reliving when the Circle fell at Kirkwall. When he had been forced to kill blood mages. And Dondaelous' friend, Meric, had been one of those he killed."

"I… oh, wait, now I remember the story. Oh," he looked up at the tear-streaked face of the healer, "Damn."

Dondaelous came around the corner, resolutely not once glancing behind her, and walked over to Cullen's other side where his wound was still seeping. "I, ah, haven't had a chance to heal the other one, yet, so I'll just take another look at you while we wait for things to settle down over there." She gave a final sniff, a single wipe of her cheeks, and focused all her attention on the man before her.

"Sounds reasonable," Cullen agreed, getting the sense that she didn't want to talk about it. He allowed Dondaelous to remove his coat and lift his tunic to get a better view of the cut.

She swallowed so thickly he could hear it. "This… this isn't good. That's not to say that it's really bad or anything, just not all that good, either. What, exactly, caused this? Do you remember?"

Cullen took as deep a breath as he felt he could manage. It seemed every breath, every movement, he could feel the edges of the wound move apart and closed again. "A blood mage. He used a knife, something with strange, almost ritualistic engraving on the blade." The memory of the knife, the edge of the blade glistening red with his blood, came all too clearly back to mind, almost making him wish his wits were still scattered.

"Ah," she nodded, rocking back on her heels, "Now it's making sense. I've come across a wound or two like this before made with something similar-sounding. Freed slaves, passing through the crossroads. One of them had cuts on his face, one on each cheek, that no matter what I did they would not heal. Finally, I gained his trust enough to learn the cuts were made by a Venatori blood mage using some sort of enchanted or warded knife. The wounds did eventually close on their own, but until they did, blood continued to ooze out of them. I'm afraid, Commander," she looked him directly in the eyes, holding his gaze steadily and calmly, "You are going to have to take it easy until this cut heals. It's going to take some time, a week or two, perhaps even longer. I'm sorry I can't say for certain how long, but it will heal, Commander, trust me."

He shook his head, but whether it was to deny the bedrest or deny the title, he didn't make any effort to clarify.

Fergus' screams grew in intensity, and Dondaelous started.

"It's all right, healer," Varric reassured her from where he was keeping watch. "He's nearly out of steam."

"What…?" she whispered, but Varric didn't turn to look at her. Instead she turned her gaze to Cullen and asked, "What is happening to him? The Templar, or rather, former Templar. Fergus, wasn't it?"

Cullen pressed his lips closed. "It's a personal matter."

She gave him the same stern look she gave all her stubborn patients.

He looked directly at her with his own best recruit-intimidating look and answered, "We do not speak of it."

"'We' whom?" she countered.

"Templars," his voice rumbled deeply, threateningly.

She didn't get the hint, pressing him further. "Is it because of what happened in Kirkwall? When the Circle fell and he killed Meric?"

He gripped her arm, his hazel eyes hard, his teeth gritting, and used her as support to leverage his feet beneath him. He stood, braced between her and the building, pushing himself to keep going, keep moving, keep heading for the goal. Her disapproving look hardened, but that only served to harden his resolve.

Fergus' voice suddenly cut off, mid-sentence. A somewhat relieved sigh from the group of guards carried around the corner to their little group, and Varric huffed. "Damn. Delonce has got a wicked right cross. Remind me not to piss her off."

"Let's get moving," Cullen urged them around the corner back to the others. He was weak, he could feel it, the blood loss leaving him winded, pale, shaky, unstable, but he couldn't allow himself to stop and rest. Not while…

One matter at a time, he reminded himself. Only a fool fights a battle on more than one front. He needed to keep his focus, deal with one problem at a time, and first and foremost was lying crumpled at his feet, unconscious in Delonce's arms. "Abbets. Take Fergus back to the Winter Palace. You know what to expect. Get Seeker Cassandra to help; she can be trusted to be discreet about this.

"Fear," he addressed the Mabari next, "I know you could help him, but Peredura and I need you more. You're coming with me."

If Fear had been torn in his duties, the command from his one partner and the drive to find his other partner was overwhelming. He left Fergus' side and planted himself firmly beside Cullen.

Delonce laid her friend gently on the ground before she started standing up. "If you'll pardon the interruption, Ser," she faced Cullen squarely, her voice as harsh and stern as any good commander, "But neither you, nor Abbets, hold any sort of rank or authority, not here, not any longer. But I do," her voice softened as she looked down at the unconscious man. "I know what is happening—what will be happening. I'll take care of David. I'll speak with Seeker Cassandra and see to it he has what he needs to recover. We've done this before, remember? And you," she looked to Abbets next, "You will need to go with him," she thumbed at Cullen. "He can barely keep his feet; he's going to need you more than Fergus will, at least until he can recover."

"I'd appreciate the help," Varric added. At Abbets' questioning look, he added, "What? Of course I'm coming with. And time's wasting. We've got to get going now. Before they get too far ahead of us."

Bless you, Varric, Cullen thought to himself, for sensing the urgency. Instead of speaking his gratitude out loud, he settled for shifting his weight from Dondaelous' shoulders to Abbets.

Delonce nodded to Cullen, "Go, find Peredura, rescue her, and kill that motherfucking Venatori. I'll take care of David." She turned back to the guards, dismissing the three men and one hound, and began giving orders for transporting the unconscious Fergus to the Winter Palace.

Dondaelous, giving one final look at the odd group already walking/hobbling away, breathed quietly, "Maker guide your steps."

She looked back at her last patient, thinking of how she once had nearly broken her hand while trying to knock his block off, and cleared her throat. Gone was the arrogant bastard who had killed her childhood friend. All she could see was a man, suffering, moaning even in his insensate state, tortured and trapped within an unending torment. It wasn't pity that sparked her next words—she would NEVER pity the bastard!—but she was a healer, after all, and it was her duty to help those in need. "Perhaps I should heal him? It'll be much faster if he can walk, rather than making us carry him."

Delonce shook her head, watching the two guards who were tying their cloaks into a makeshift sling to transport her friend. "He's not in his right mind currently. If you heal his shoulder, you'll wake him up, and when he sees that you are a mage…" She paused, setting her hand on Dondaelous' arm, "Listen, what's happening to Fergus… what he's going through… he'll be…" after a few more half-formed words and unstrung sounds, she gave up with a disgusted and frustrated grunt. "We just don't speak of it."

"We," the healer repeated, not at all surprised to hear the same words come out of Delonce as had come out of Cullen, "As in Templars."

Delonce nodded. "So, please, I'm begging you, don't ask questions, don't try to figure it out yourself, don't make guesses out loud. Just help me get him to Seeker Cassandra, someplace quiet and secluded, then heal his shoulder and just leave. Nothing more, all right?"

The Mage hesitated, sensing there was so much more going on, but also sensing that she wasn't going to be told. She knew Fergus had been a Templar in Kirkwall, and that he left the Order to join the Inquisition. She also knew he had stopped taking lyrium, as had Cullen and Abbets, the only three so far to have succuessfully done so. Why, then, was he…

"Leave it!" Delonce hissed, seeing the wheels turning in the other woman's head.

…suffering as if in the grips of some mad delusion. Her head turned, saw the opened lyrium case, the empty vial nearby. Delonce must have followed her gaze as she hastened to snatch it up and secure it on her person. When she turned back to the healer, the dark cloud staining her features was finally enough to silence the Mage. Dondaelous ducked her head and clasped her hands before her, the picture of a perfect, obedient Mage. But that was only skin deep. All the way back to the Winter Palace she was quiet, lost in deep thoughts.


Each step was painful.

No, each step was a nightmare. Each step reminded him of the wound in his side. Each breath reminded him, each beat of his heart.

The wound wasn't bleeding freely, thankfully, but it was oozing, slowly, steadily, not enough to drip but enough to keep his tunic uncomfortably damp.

What had happened to his jacket?

"Varric…" he started but stopped immediately. The dwarf, walking on the other side of Fear who steadfastly kept a position at Cullen's side, looked up at him questioningly. Cullen only shook his head and took another step.

They were walking in a direction, he was sure, and it seemed to be Varric guiding them, but where they were going was a mystery to him. Had Varric seen the direction Nollatori and his men took? Did Varric have some clue that he had missed?

"Varric…?"

Again the rogue looked up at him, not missing a step, and again Cullen fell silent.

He trusted Varric, that was a fact. And Varric had a specific location in mind that they were headed to; that was also a fact. But where was it? And would he agree that it was the correct place to go?

"Varric?"

"If you save your questions for a little longer," Varric decided to verbally respond this time, "We'll soon be someplace secure where you can rest. Then it'll be time for questions and plans, but the faster we get there, the better I'll feel."

"Where is 'there'?" Cullen managed to gasp between steps.

"The stables," he answered. "I'm sure you heard the Mage…"

"Nollatori."

"…tell his men to take Peredura to 'the horses.' Well, I figure he must have meant the stables. And even if he didn't, even if they have horses stashed somewhere outside the city," Varric shrugged, "I want Bianca. She's a comfort to me, when I hold her heavy weight in my hands. Stroke her sturdy sides. Pull on her hard until she's cocked and ready."

Abbets cleared his throat, "Are we talking about…?"

"His crossbow," Cullen supplied.

"A 'one-of-a-kind crossbow,' thank you very much," Varric sighed. "And I sent her ahead along with the rest of my luggage this morning to be stowed on my chartered carriage. I'm going to want that hot little beauty strapped to my back before we go after Nollatori. And," as they rounded the last corner, he pointed to the carriage in question, "It's big enough for all three—excuse me, four of us." He nodded to Fear. "That is, if you'd rather ride than run."

Fear tilted his head, as if taking Varric's offer under serious consideration.

Cullen had stopped walking, winded, and Abbets stayed next to him, stoically lending support. He studied the carriage in question as Varric finished any last minute negotiations with the driver, the trunks and crates stacked on top, the gear secured at the back, large size and grand design of a fairly expensive carriage—even if it was a rental—and shook his head. "Horses would be fastest…"

"Forget it, Curly," Varric turned to speak over his shoulder, as if he had known all along what Cullen would think, "You're in no condition to ride. And until you are," he patted the side of the carriage, "This will do. She's actually faster than she looks."

Cullen raised an eyebrow, but if he had any doubts he wisely chose to keep them to himself. Instead, he turned his attention to the Mabari, who appeared to be still considering Varric's offer of a ride. "I know, Fear, that I would feel better if I could burn off a little energy and anxiety with a good run." He grimaced and placed a hand over his wound, his chaffing over his own physical limitations clear on his features. "You might, too. I'm sure if you change your mind later on, Varric will let you ride with us; it isn't a one time only offer."

"Don't make any promises on my behalf," Varric quipped, but then turned gentle eyes to the hound, "But he's right this time. You can ride inside with us whenever you want. But, Fear," he knelt down to eye level with the hound, "We could use your help outside the carriage, first. You know your partner, you know her scent. When Nollatori took her, they had her walking, probably because it would look less suspicious than carrying her, seeing as it's in the middle of the day. Do you think you could… track her?"

Fear pulled his tongue inside his mouth and stopped panting, giving Varric a dead stare.

"You offended him," Cullen said, deadpan, balancing his weight between Abbets and the carriage.

"Yeah," Varric took half a step back, hands out in front of him placatingly, "I got the message. Sorry, Fear, not sure if I insulted you by asking you do to something menial, or something that you obviously could do. Look, I know you've tracked her before. And finding her is going to take all of us, right? So you gotta do your part, too."

"You can do this, Fear," Cullen added his support. "We're still fairly close to the street where she… where it happened. Range out, searching in a one block circumference, expanding by a block each lap, until you find her scent. Then lead the way. Understood?"

The commanding tone had the desired effect on the Mabari. Fear gave a small tremble all over, as if he was impatient to start.

"You got that, right? You're to follow the Mabari?" Abbets nodded his chin to the driver, who gave a nod in return before focusing his attention on Fear. "Good man. Now that that's settled, in you go, Commander," Abbets began lifting Cullen up the steps and through the door Varric was holding open.

"I'm no longer…"

"Save it," Varric sighed, giving him a playful push into the carriage. "You're always going to be 'Commander,' even retired, so just accept it and get in the damn carriage!"

Cullen obeyed, feeling a little surly, thinking to himself that if he was 'always going to be Commander,' then perhaps he should be the one giving the orders. He took his seat, gingerly, facing forwards inside the compartment. Varric came in next and took the seat beside him, leaving the backwards facing seat for Abbets. Once the old captain was settled in, he rapped his knuckles smartly on the wood behind him where their driver could hear, and they started off following the faithful hound.

Varric set about making a poultice for Cullen's side, fussing with salves and herbs and linen bandages. Cullen suffered through it, trying not to hiss or twitch at the stinging and the pressure, or even the awkwardness of doing all this inside a rambling carriage. Instead he focused on the scenery outside the window, occasionally catching a glimpse of Fear as they followed him around a corner or onto a side street. It seemed the hound had picked up Peredura's scent fairly quickly, and was eagerly and confidently leading them after her and her abductors. Even after they passed from city streets to open countryside, Cullen continued to stare and wait, his eyes no longer seeing the beautiful view, but turning inwards to where he was plotting once again all the different ways he was going to kill Nollatori.

Slowly.


"Told you he was asleep."

Cullen blinked, the only sign of 'waking up' he would allow, before turning his head to the two faces at the opened carriage door. Slowly, with a slightly peeved expression on his features, he raised an eyebrow while waiting for them to elaborate.

"Been a while," Abbets shrugged, "Forgot what to look for. Excuse us, Ser," he nodded, falling back into the role of a soldier. It lent him some comfort, the routines and regulations and knowing what was expected of you that was so much a part of the life of a soldier—and he needed a bit of comfort just then. "Fear tracked her scent this far, but by the looks of things," he stepped back to allow Cullen a clear view of the area, "This was where they had camped. Tethered horses here as well. For quite a bit of time, serveral weeks, perhaps a month."

"Must have been watching her ever since we came to Halamshiral," Varric added. "Took their time, waited until she was off palace grounds and vulnerable."

"Yes, quite," Cullen hastily snapped. He was reminded again of how he had been the one who disbanded the Honor Guard, the former Templars but who were still taking lyrium, those men and women who could protect her against mages. If only they had known Nollatori was still alive…

He had to physically break that line of thought, knowing it would do no good, and so he pushed himself off the seat and through the door. He managed two whole steps on his own; then he stopped, breathing carefully, while he studied the camp. Fear was pacing around, trying to root out anything that might lead him further after his partner, but if they party had taken to horses…

"Is there anything here to show where they might be headed next?"

"Ah, gee, Curly, I hadn't thought to look." Varric's voice practically oozed with sarcasm.

"While you were 'resting,' Ser," Abbets stepped in before heated tempers could grow even more heated. "We found a few bits and bobs. There's an old pouch, looks like the string's been mended several times already. Must've broken again and fell off the owner's person unnoticed. Though probably not important enough for him or her to come back for."

Cullen nodded, trying to hold his rage over his own impotence in check, "Did you find anything inside of it?"

Abbets nodded and upended the satchel over his hand. Cullen leaned in closer to stare at what had appeared.

"It looks like a signet ring. But I don't recognize the wording around the symbol, or the symbol, for that matter."

Varric nodded. "I do. It's Tevine. Those hired thugs Nollatori used are locals, not Tevinters, so it stands to reason that this ring belonged to him."

"But if the ring belongs to him," Abbets slogged through his reasoning, "And a signet ring is, presumably, important, wouldn't he want to come back for it?"

"Maybe…" Varric hummed, stroking his beardless cheek, "Or maybe not. It could be of sentimental value only. Or, now that he has Peredura and her supposedly 'powerful' blood to fuel his magic, maybe he thinks he doesn't need it any longer. Or maybe it's not worth the risk, just in case we're hot on his trail."

"Which we are! Good!" Cullen took the ring from Abbets' palm and held it tightly. "Now we know we've been going in the right direction. Which way next?"

"To the port," was Varric's ready answer. "It's obvious Nollatori is heading home, back to Tevinter, so we go to Tevinter."

"But where in Tevinter? We can't just go around asking everybody if they've seen a blood mage walking around with a former slave doped up on opeigh."

Varric fought hard not to roll his eyes. "Sarcasm doesn't work for you, Commander. My first thought is to catch up to Dorian and Iron Bull. We'd get a lot further in Tevinter with a Magistrate in our party."

"Dorian? Iron Bull? How do you know that they are together…" Cullen shook his head and held up a hand, "Never mind, I don't want the answer to that one. Fine, if we know the route those two were taking, then let's catch up to them! No doubt Dorian knows the significance of this signet, as well. How much further to your ship?"

Varric turned Cullen towards the carriage, escorting him back into it. "About a day's travel, now that we can make straight for it. If we don't stop for the night, we can make it by noon tomorrow. Come on, Fear, up you go. You can help keep Curly there calm."

"I'm not…!" Cullen swallowed the rest of the barking protest he was about to deliver, realizing that Varric was right. Instead, he settled for a grunt and shifted around this time to face backwards. Fear eagerly leaped inside, his paws barely touching the floor before he was on the seat next to Cullen. He put his arm around the Mabari, in part to help the hound keep his perch for when the carriage started moving, but also in part because… well… he needed the warmth and strength the animal gave.

"That hound's getting spoiled," Abbets hummed, bringing up the rear.

"You want to be the one to tell him 'no,' be my guest." Varric settled himself against his own seat and sighed. "Well, it's non-stop now until supper time. Oh, and if we are going to be traveling through the night…"

"I'll handle that," Abbets volunteered. "Let me get a bit of sleep myself, and I'll be ready to switch places with the driver for the night."

Varric watched, fascinated, as Abbets wiggled and wedged himself into a corner and promptly dozed off. As the carriage started down the road, not even the gentle swaying or an occasional pothole could nudge the old soldier awake. Varric turned to say something to Cullen, but he also was 'asleep,' eyes open but glazed, body erect but not tense, his arm still around the Mabari. The hound, too, looked more than willing to doze, settling himself lower onto the seat, head draped over Cullen's thigh, Cullen's hand now on his head.

"Well, I guess there's no chance for a round or two of Wicked Grace to pass the time."