Author's Note: HELLO! Wow! I was expecting this chapter to take a little bit longer, but here I am, posting another chapter. ALL HAIL SUMMER TIME! And actually having the energy and brain-capacity to attend to my hobbies. :)
I have one new follower, .Angel, HEEEEEY! Thank you for the follow! I appreciate it! Glad you enjoy the story! :))))) And to everyone who has favorite-d this story (there are SO MANY of you guys!), THANK YOU!
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter as it is a bit of a switch from the usual.
Chapter 17
Cullen stood on the crest of a hill looking down at his family's home in Ferelden. He smiled, remembering the many days he and his siblings spent playing in the bright green grass of the meadows that surrounded it. From this distance, his family appeared to be the size of dolls as they moved about performing their regular chores. Something about watching them from the hill made him feel safe and warm, as if nothing bad had happened or ever could. He knew this was untrue, however, especially considering the life he had led. A dull pain started up in the back of his eyes, nose, and throat as he allowed his mind to wander back in time over his service with the Templars… from basic training at thirteen to his time in Denerim and through all of his decisions at Kirkwall (good and bad). Gradually the pain grew to a cloying dryness in his throat. He had to get some water and fast. He jogged down the hill towards his family. He had spent long enough observing them from afar. It was just as well, they would have water readily available at the well.
As he jogged, the landscape around him changed and soon he found himself in the bowels of a ship. His pain turned into nausea as he was rocked violently on his legs. He stumbled and knocked into Cassandra who cursed at him and shoved him away from her. He tried to grumble an apology, but as he did so he coughed. He covered his mouth with his hand, spluttering an apology out from around it and between gasps for air as his lungs seemingly tried to expel themselves from his body through his mouth. The coughing fit made his nausea worse. He kept his hand clamped over his mouth as he scrambled around Cassandra, continuing to ram into her as the ship rocked, struggling to get to the steps he could see just beyond her. Those steps led to the deck, he knew so because he had done this what felt like a hundred times on the voyage to Haven from Kirkwall. At last he shouldered his way up to the main deck.
The sharp, salty air froze in his nostrils as he collapsed against a stone wall, and wretched up a bright blue liquid onto the snow. It steamed brilliantly as it left the warmth of his stomach and made contact with the frozen air and ground. Lyrium… Cullen realized and suddenly he began to shake and shiver. His whole body vibrated from his very core to the tips of his fingers and toes. He felt himself burst into a cold sweat as he stared at the wasted Lyrium. He needed it. He needed it more than he needed air to breathe and food to eat. Without it, he would surely die. This was most unsettling. Where was he going to get more? He wasn't in the Circle anymore. He was the only Templar in Haven. There was no Lyrium supply here. Slowly. Oh, so slowly. He leaned over the stone wall and dipped two fingers into the shining blue pool. They quivered so violently that the whole pool rippled beneath his hand. He brought it back, watching the blue liquid drip from his dark leather encased fingers with intense fascination. He brought it closer to his lips—
"Commander?" A gentle voice queried from behind him. He stopped and turned his head. A girl sat atop a horse smiling down at him, the scent of cinnamon wafted to him on the light breeze that blew around them. Cullen felt his cheeks turn bright red as he hastily wiped his fingers on the inside of his cloak.
"Y-yes?" He asked in return, licking his dry, cracked lips, still thinking about the pool behind him. It was speaking to him. Telling him that there was only one way to make these painful sensations leave his quaking, desperate body, debasing though it may be. He looked away from her, back towards the pool and then back to the girl.
He was standing in the middle of a barren, burned landscape. Blackened trees were scattered haphazardly around like giant, skeletal hands clawing at the red sky. He gulped, trying to clear the itch from his throat. Where was this place? As he looked closer he noticed corpses lying about. Corpses with large, protruding red crystals growing from them like deep mushrooms grow from spider carcasses in caves. Most of the corpses had vaguely human shapes to them, but they had been twisted into an unrecognizable and monstrous form. They might never have been human in the first place. He went and knelt beside one, studying the beautifully bright red crystal clusters jabbing through mottled flesh. There was something horribly familiar about this.
Absently he scratched at his incessantly itching throat. He cleared it roughly which only had the itch worse. He stood and walked away from the corpse, pondering this landscape. He cleared his throat again, a little more forcefully. Then, he was overcome with another fit of coughing. He fell forward onto his hands and knees, his whole body giving into the lack of oxygen such a powerful set of coughs caused. He covered his mouth with one quavering hand, hoping it would allow him enough time to take a full breath. It seemed to only make things worse. He felt his hand fill with something hot and wet. He pulled it away and saw it had filled with a bright, glowing red fluid. He felt the muscles of his throat, shoulders, and back shift painfully beneath his skin. It was as if knives were growing from inside of him and breaking through. He dropped his hand to the ground and felt panic rise up and take control as he registered that his hands and wrists were starting to show the tips of the same red crystals pushing up through his skin. He looked up at the red sky, now streaked with black, and howled in agony as spikes of red Lyrium erupted from his shoulder blades only to be cut-off by the ones erupting from his throat—
Cullen woke sitting straight up in bed. His throat was raw and dry as if he had been shouting in battle, but he knew that was not the case. He had managed to scream himself hoarse in his sleep. It had been awhile since he'd had a nightmare like that. He examined his hands and patted his bare shoulders, double-checking he had not become a red Templar. He shivered; thanking the Maker he had never taken any red Lyrium during his time in the Circle. That made it easier to convince him that he was not going to become one in his waking hours. The thought had stuck with him since Haven. It was an irrational fear, but one he held deep in his heart anyway. He groaned and forced himself to lie back down. It was too early to wake, even for him. He closed his eyes and prayed for a more restful dream. When sleep proved to be an elusive mistress, he turned his thoughts to something more pleasant than his nightmares. He thought of what he was going to do that day. He thought of the things he had to accomplish, the people he needed to speak to, even what foods he would eat, and clothes he would wear… and then he thought of Elena.
The Inquisitor had sent her squadron to Emprise du lion to bolster the protection of refugees at a small town called Sahrnia. They had been having difficulties with wolf attacks and red Templars. Nothing that Elena couldn't handle. She'd been at Haven. She'd been hunting. She'd even secured the refugee settlements at Skyhold. The Inquisitor had been correct to send her. She was the most qualified for the job, but still, Cullen worried. Sahrnia was so far away. If she needed anything urgently, there was no way Skyhold and the Inquisition could help her. He sent a prayer to the Maker and Andraste to protect all those in Sahrnia.
Still feeling uneasy, Cullen got out of bed. To hell with the hour! He thought as he slid down the ladder. He stopped by his dresser and pulled on some fresh breeches and a cotton shirt. His cloak went around his shoulders before he shoved his feet into his boots. He didn't even bother to lace up his shirt or comb his hair as he slipped quickly out the door and into the kitchen. He swiped a breakfast roll, richly studded with dried fruit and glazed with honey. He told the cooks good morning and thanked them as he walked by. Normally, he would have stayed and chatted over his breakfast and a mug of tea, but something deep within him told him to keep moving. Maybe it was an old instinct brought back by his nightmare, whatever it was, Cullen wasn't about to ignore it. It felt like it had right after the Breach was closed. Safe but something sinister was under the façade of relative normality.
He slid through Solas's rotunda, casting a careful eye over the dozing elf. He had never much been one for Solas. Something about his lofty, knowledgeable-beyond-mortal-ken personality put Cullen off his mettle. On the second level, the mages and Dorian were nowhere in sight. A welcome relief as walking past that many mages had always felt too much like a Circle for his comfort. As Cullen mounted the steps to the third level, he could hear raised voices. It was apparent that the speakers were attempting to keep their voices down, but only just. He continued on, that weird feeling growing in his stomach, causing the roll to feel a bit like an actual brick sitting in his gut. The Inquisitor stood with his back to Cullen, doing his best to not actually shout at the spy master.
The younger man's entire body was leaning over Leliana's table, braced by both hands against the wood, "How could we let this happen? AGAIN!" The Inquisitor demanded, tossing a piece of crumpled parchment to the floor angrily. "Tell me when you have something!" He finished, whirling around to register that Cullen had come to a complete stop at the top of the stairs. The Inquisitor's icy blue eyes locked onto Cullen's amber ones and somehow grew colder, "I'll be in the War Room. Send me my men." He barked as he brushed past Cullen and raged down the stairs. Cullen and Leliana stood in silence as the echoes of his descent and eventual exit from the tower receded.
Leliana sighed and retrieved the parchment from the floor, "Cullen," She started as she thrust the parchment into his hands unceremoniously, "I am afraid this is news that cannot wait for pleasantries."
Cullen nodded, smoothed the paper out flat and read it quickly. A lead weight dropped into his heart, pulling it into the bottom-most put of his stomach. "I am a fool." He whispered, stumbling into a chair. The parchment drifted from his open palm to the floor.
"We are all fools, it would seem. What is left for us is to fix it and quickly." Leliana waggled her head from side to side, considering her options, "Of course, it's difficult to do so currently. We don't even know where Samson is."
"How long until we know?"
"A day or two at least, my scouts are widespread and good at finding information quickly, but even they need time." Leliana placed a hand on Cullen's shoulder, leaning down to look at his face more directly, "We will find her."
Cullen paced. He had found that since he had received the news of Elena's capture by Samson he hadn't been able to do anything but pace. It helped keep the agony of waiting at bay. He had made the full circuit of the battlements probably ten times that day alone and it was only just past midday. He stopped in his tower and sighed, looking around him at the same things. He went to his bookshelf and perused the titles; there were many interesting stories here. There were also informational books on past battles and great warriors and kings and the histories of Thedas. He had read most of them in his time here. It seemed, for a while that the Lyrium withdrawals were abating. Now, they seemed to be returning. His throat ached and his hands had taken on a slight palsy. Cassandra had assured him that it was just nerves caused by recent events and nothing more sinister. He moved from the book shelf to his desk and reviewed the map that lay there. He willed the map to show him where Elena was, but the parchment was just as stubborn as ever. It would not give up the secret of her location, as if it ever knew. It was just a map, after all.
He heaved a sigh and walked a clockwise circle around the desk; then, he turned and went counterclockwise. Over and over and over he walked circles around the desk. Pacing really was the only thing he could do to keep everything from crumbling in on him. Without realizing it, he stopped and opened the topmost drawer of the desk. There, nestled in amongst the bits of paper, sealing wax, extra quills, and bits of twine, sat the little wooden box with his Lyrium implements. He took it out and opened it, sitting in on top of the map. The figure of Andraste looked at him solemnly. It was almost as if she were scolding him for even entertaining the notion. That's all it was, an entertainment of his addiction. He had felt he was on the verge of fully breaking his addiction, but then moments like these happened and he doubted. He doubted every decision he had made since deciding to stop taking Lyrium.
True, stopping the use of the substance had allowed him to more fully distance himself from his Templar past and the awful decisions he had made during it.
Then again, stopping Lyrium had also caused him to be an irrational fool on more than one occasion. It had caused him to make decisions that weren't always in the best interest of his soldiers. Luckily, his men were well-trained enough that it hadn't ever mattered and it had only been in hindsight that he had noticed his recklessness.
Cullen groaned and moved away from the open box and began a larger circle around the perimeter of his room. Each time he passed the box he felt like a girl plucking petals from flowers. Take it. Walk. Don't take it. Walk. He wondered what he would finally land on. Take it. When he stopped walking what would happen. Don't take it. Where was Elena? Take it. What was happening to her? Don't take it. What was Samson doing to her? What did he want from her? What caused him to decide to take her prisoner rather than just to kill her? Take it! Really, she was superfluous to him. She didn't know anything about the deeper workings of the Inquisition. The Inquisitor and his council had seen to that with a pointed precision when Cullen had originally pointed out that she was going to be a prime target for manipulation attempts. DON'T take it. If he were Samson and knew who Elena was, could he honestly say he wouldn't have just out-right killed her? Or wouldn't? TAKE. IT! Of course, it was apparent that was going to be the eventual outcome of her imprisonment when Samson learned that she truly didn't know anything, or the Inquisitor refused to give in to any demands that Samson put forth. DON'T. TAKE IT!
Cullen stopped walking and looked down at the box. He thought of Elena, probably shackled and chained up somewhere, most likely being tortured for information she didn't have. He sank his head back on his neck and looked up at the ceiling. The thought of her being tortured, after being tortured himself, was too much to bear. He left the room, bursting into the sunlight on the battlements with such abruptness that he startled the sentry who stood there looking out. The emotions and memories he had just brushed against caused him to press the heels of his hands against his eyes trying to blot out the memories. It had been years since that time in Denerim, but that experience would never let him go. He could still feel every sensation on his skin, hear every sound…
Cullen let his hands drop and left the battlements. The stunning views around Skyhold held no beauty for him today. They hadn't for the past several days, in fact. He walked through the grounds, up the main stairs, and eventually found himself crossing through Josephine's study and into the War Room. Leliana stood by a window, releasing a raven into the blue sky. She turned to face him when the door banged shut.
"Ah, Cullen, you have impeccable timing." She smiled as she walked closer to him. How could she possibly smile at a time like this? She pushed a rolled message into his hand. The seal hadn't even been broken, "This should be some good news."
Cullen didn't need any encouraging, he tore the seal from the parchment and read the contents of the message quickly, "The Shrine of Dumat?" He looked at Leliana for clarification.
Leliana's eye brows furrowed briefly before she went to the map. She surveyed it briefly, her fingers tracing along borders and boundaries until she stopped and jabbed one of her raven markers into a spot with certainty, "It is an old Tevinter temple dedicated to the Old God Dumat. Dorian tells me that it is rumored that Corypheus was once a high-priest of Dumat. I cannot believe it took so long for me to make the connection." She shook her head and moved away from the table, "I must go inform the Inquisitor." She explained as she left the War Room.
Cullen stayed where she had left him, looking at the spot on the map. Wondering how long it would take to travel there. They had good horses thanks to Master Dennet. If they traveled light, brought only the bare essentials, then, perhaps they could make it in a day or two. It was a relief to know where Elena was. Now, they could actually do something. Cullen felt his face contort into a wry smile, now he had a better understanding of why Elena hated to stay at Skyhold while everyone else went off and, as she so deftly put it, did things. His internal reverie was interrupted by the Inquisitor bursting through the door. Blackwall, the Iron Bull, and Dorian rushed in after him. Everyone was talking at once. The Inquisitor stopped in front of the War Table.
"Where is the Shrine of Dumat?" He asked curtly. Cullen pointed to the raven marker. "How long will it take us to get there?"
"If we pack lightly, it shouldn't take much more than a day, maybe two." Cullen replied, noting the wild gleam in the Inquisitor's blue eyes. He found that giving this small direction helped to settle him. He rested his hands on the pommel of his sword confidently. It was nice to have a plan, however small it was at the moment.
The Inquisitor studied the map carefully. "Dorian, what can you tell us about this shrine? Isn't Dumat one of your ancient gods?"
"He's not one of my gods, but if you mean he's an ancient god from Tevinter, then you'd be correct. I don't know much about the shrine, but I do know Dumat is called the Dragon of Silence and was the archdemon that brought about the First Blight. People believe he is still alive in some form because he still has a few worshippers who claim to have their prayers answered by him. There's no telling what's actually happening there. If Corypheus really is a high-priest of Dumat, we could be walking into the lion's den." Dorian rattled off in his most informative tone. Cullen realized, not for the first time, that the mage was an excellent scholar and was a veritable fount of information on all things Tevinter and magic. "Don't look so shocked, Commander, it's not like all I do in my free time is drink and play Wicked Grace. I actually read, you know."
"Dorian, don't bait the Commander." Blackwall admonished, "We don't have time for that."
Before Dorian could respond to Blackwall, the Inquisitor pounded a fist against the table causing everyone to focus on him, "Please, let's just get a plan together and go." His voice cracked unsteadily on the word 'go.' Everyone seemed to realize that the Inquisitor was getting dangerously close to cracking himself. They stopped any extraneous discussions. Quickly, they formed a plan. They were going to have Leliana's scout continue gathering information as they traveled. Once they got within an hour's ride from the shrine they would meet with the scout and form a more solid plan. In the meantime, they would have to content themselves with simply travelling in the correct direction. They put their affairs in order for the duration of their absence and were galloping through the final gate by dusk. As the air whipped against him, Cullen could feel the anxious energy he had been carrying around with him since the initial news evaporate almost entirely. The nagging need for the release a draught of Lyrium would give him still plagued the back of his mind, but it was manageable. He hoped that the closer they grew to Elena, the less it would prey on his thoughts. He hoped for a great deal more, to be honest. He sent a thousandth prayer to the Maker for the safety of Elena and that their mission would be swiftly and successfully carried out—for all their sakes.
Author's Note: All right, so next time on Game of Thrones- No, I'm kidding. Anyway, we will be back to our regularly scheduled program next chapter. :0 Thanks for reading! Love you guys! Peace and blessings! -Danbambina