Chapter Text
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When Cullen opened his eyes to the Fade, he found Reverie wrapped oh so tightly around him and that red curtain hung over everything still.
It took a moment of feeling his demon attempting to drag his psyche back down into idle remembrance in the dark before he knew an immediate panicked fear that, if he allowed it, he might never be able to wake himself from it again.
He tensed in their tight grip and barely had the fortification to defy their will long enough to force himself to Wake Up.
~ * ~
When Cullen opened his eyes to the waking world he was healed of his injuries, but he was still so weak and sickly feeling that it didn’t seem to make all that much difference. It was the middle of the night and the dark, gloomy tent room was slowly spinning around him. He shifted and wanted to roll over to ease the vertigo and soothe his churning stomach, but there was something hot and heavy pinning him in place. When he groaned a thick head turned on his chest to look at him, big round eyes glittering despite the dark.
He rested his hand on Valor’s big soft head and rubbed at it weakly, voice quiet and breathless. “Valor…I can’t breathe…you are too heavy here…” He rasped softly.
The spirit-mutt made a reluctant sound and stared at him with the most soulful, pouty wardog eyes that he had ever seen. Well, he couldn’t actually see them in the dark, but the message and body language were clear, and the beast resolutely remained draped on him. He had to wrap his right arm around Valor’s neck and pull him over to lay alongside him instead. The dog went willingly despite his very obvious pout and Cullen couldn’t help but smile about it. Unfortunately, his smile faded almost immediately as he thought about his new problem.
Reverie was so much kinder than Despair, but he realized now that was part of their lure, part of their trap for him. They were still trying to drag him down, but they might actually succeed this way. With their seeming kindness and care. When would he ever have thought that kindness and care could be his undoing? He forced himself to sit up. The night was lost in nearly complete darkness still, but there was a cup and a bottle sitting nearby that gave off a very dim golden lavender gleam.
Cullen blinked waveringly at it for a moment, then he reached out with shaking hands to unstopper the bottle and carefully pour some. He wanted relief. He didn’t know how long he could hold out against this sickness this time. He didn’t really feel capable of handling anything right now. He just had to get past the worst of it. He thought he should be alright then. The potion had helped once already, he hoped it would help again. He brought the cup to his lips with shaking hands and sipped at it. Chalky cherries. He didn’t mind the taste at all and, though his stomach started to cramp at the first swallow, he just stayed as still as he could and continued sipping until he finally felt a flush of soothing warmth begin to spread in his stomach and it calmed. He drank the rest of the glass and laid back down and this time he rested his cheek on Valor’s strong fluffy back while he let the potion do its work for a while.
The next time he sat up, he felt stronger and the room was no longer spinning and causing his stomach to flip. He glanced around in the dark and remembered Roderick. The old man was still laying on his bedroll only a few feet away from him. Cullen scooted that way until he was sitting next to him. Valor grumbled about losing his pillow, but just watched him move about in the dark. He noticed that here there were two strong sources of warmth in the tent. The first he felt was the edge of Valor’s heat aura. The second was a dimly glowing heater stove sitting on a stone in the center of the tent. Thankfully they’d somehow managed to drag some of those with them in the abrupt escape. All around in the large tent were dozens of dark mounds and the space was filled with the sound of sleeping breaths and soft snores. The number of bodies crammed in the tent was also keeping a certain level of stuffy warmth. Cullen turned his attention back down to the old man. He lifted one of his hands and it was cool and felt nearly weightless, like soft parchment. He sighed and just sat there for a while, holding the Chancellor’s frail old hand in his. He wasn’t allowed to perform vigils anymore, so he just sat quietly and felt completely useless and helpless.
At some point the green glow of Fade sparked in his left hand and he turned his palm up to look at the strange magic embedded there. He thought about how Languor had told him that even death could not bar the power of this Anchor when it tempted him. Was that possibly true, or had that been merely part of the deception? If this magic could…could open and close doorways…it could traverse the Fade…it could apparently also traverse time? Had it taken hold of Alexius’ time magic that had been meant to erase him and used it to travel instead? Just so that he could escape or so that he could learn? That thought was suspicious to him. He had already had the idea that there could be some…some purpose for this magic…or even a will to it… Could magic be intelligent in its own right? Or was that only the realm of spirits? Because Cullen knew that sometimes you could not tell the difference between magic and the power of spirits. Sometimes the two things were one and the same. There really were times that this Anchor felt like it had a mind of its own.
And…it seemed like it…could facilitate things…by opening and closing the way. Like that was part of its nature. To facilitate other things to happen. Like the nature of lyrium seemed to be to create and sever connections and enhance or negate things.
Sand in an hourglass.
That is what Vivienne had said. And that peace had been made with it.
You could not put sand back into an empty hourglass.
Well, fuck that trite and tawdry bullshit, he thought sourly.
What if you could? Who says you can’t? What could you possibly do to try to accomplish that and could it be…facilitated?
What about the grains of sand that were still left? Could you empower life essence itself?
Even as the thought occurred to him, he knew that it was a dangerous one. It drew his attention down an entirely different avenue. It drew him to thinking about bloodmagic and its two different types. The demonically imbued kind and the hedge magic kind. Because that’s what Vitality seemed to be if he thought about it from the point of view of the Order’s training. Hedge magic was wild magic learned by mages with informal training. Self taught and sometimes flawed, sometimes powerful. This Fade magic seemed like hedge magic. As far as Cullen knew, no one taught or used it except spirits…until they met Solas. It was aberrant. Rare. Was it spiritual in origin? The same seemed to be true about Vitality, but in the reverse. It was aberrant and it was physical, it was not the same as other magic. Yet, you could learn it from demons…which were the alternate side of a coin. So to speak. Spirit on one side, Demon on the other…and…if the right circumstances occurred, that coin could flip. What did that mean for magic like this?
One of the things that blood magic could do, aside from take control of others’ minds and bodies and will…was it could heal. Bloodmagic could restore, but it was an exchange. It took from someone else to do it. You took Vitality from one source and bolstered another with it. He knew that first hand, but he refused to consider how he knew it. That wasn’t important and didn’t require attention. He forced his thoughts away from that uncomfortable spiral and back on track again. Did one have to be a mage to be able to use Vitality? Supposedly when he used his lyrium gem’s abilities aberrantly it drew upon his Vitality in order to work. It drained his life essence to cast magic like a mage did with mana, but was that merely his gem pulling from whatever fuel source it could reach to be able to accomplish what it wasn’t really made to do? Maybe that was what it was made to do. Maybe that was why there had been ancient bloodmagic on it, but forgotten over time as the use of it fell out of style.
The reign of Tevinter had just been broken after all and they were drenched with the stuff. He wasn’t sure, but that seemed as likely as anything else right now. If he’d still had those enchantments on him, would it have bonded him to Dorian when he’d willingly accepted his magic into himself rather than just taken his signature? Would it have bonded him to Anders? Had it? How could he ever know if it had or hadn’t? Maybe there hadn’t ever been any love between them at all, maybe it had all been some preset bonding capability and neither of them had a choice in the matter? Anders had hated him for so long… He had cared for Anders long before the spirit healer had returned any gentler sentiments… They had experimented with Anders’ magic before he’d discovered his gem, hadn’t they? Was that why his absence hurt so much still? How could he even rely on anything he thought he remembered? As the pain began to well up in his chest, he forcefully crushed down all of those thoughts and banished them away before they caused him to spiral someplace terrible.
Was he absolutely insane to be thinking about all of this? He probably was. But did he really think that he could say at this point that he was still on the saner end of the spectrum? No. No, he knew better than that. Maybe the lyrium was beginning to take his mind already. No…no, his gem helped to hold off some of that malady, shouldn’t it? He thought that was how it worked if you were connected with it properly. The thought came to him that it would be incredibly unfair if the lyrium took him and not Samson with how much the other man was just stuffed with the stuff and yet he was just fine. He pushed all of that away too.
Mages like Dorian believed that magic was for tinkering, for experimenting and exploring. There were clear boundaries with magic, but there was also no telling whether any particular boundary was really concrete or opaque. Like the Veil. There were places where it was soft, where you could step through…or if you were powerful enough, push through. He didn’t feel powerful at all right now, but…he had this Mark…this Anchor…which was supposed to be like a needle that could pierce through barriers…and he was the thread attached to it.
“Are you planning to commend my soul to the Maker? It is just a bit early for that still.” Came the Chancellor's extremely weak, soft voice. If Cullen were not so close, he might not have heard it. The cool fingers in his hand gave the smallest flex and he squeezed them back gently.
“I’m sorry, I am not allowed to do that anymore.” Cullen responded just as softly. There was more quiet and he heard the old man swallow thickly. He sounded parched, but Cullen had no idea where to find any water for him.
“I am… I am to blame…for that. I… I did not believe. Maker forgive this old fool. You really are-...” His soft voice was cut off by a rusty sounding cough and Cullen shifted a little closer to hold the old hand in both of his. The Mark was just a faint green glow on his skin.
“Shhh… That’s…” Cullen was surprised, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been. Roderick had high connections. He was a Grand Chancellor and he was one of the fewest high ranking clergy still alive even if he was only a male clerk and not a priest like they allowed in the North. The revelation stung just like that letter from the chantry had stung, but… He could not hold that against the old man. Not now. Not like this. “It’s not important. You should save your strength.”
The old man’s breath rattled in his chest for a moment, but he did speak again before long. “We are alive because of you. And… I… I fought in faithlessness. …forgive me. I devoted my last breath to the Maker’s will.”
Listening to the man say these things with such heavy emotion weighing down each word caused Cullen’s eyes to sting and he squeezed his hand all the more. “Please, don’t… I’m not… I’m no saint sent here to save the flock… I’m just a-...”
That hand squeezed his with surprising strength suddenly. “Have faith. You must. It will see you through when all else is lost. I… I know how you have been tested. I had no compassion before. Now I see. This was ordained…whether you believe or not…changes little.”
Cullen sat with that statement, quietly absorbing it, considering it. Could he believe that? He… He might have once. He definitely would have once. But now? He… He was so full of…of rage…wrath…anger…hurt…pain…fear…regret…sorrow…guilt…confusion. So much that made him question everything. If this was all meant to be, then…then that was a cruelty beyond measure and he would reject that plan with everything that he was. But…that also left no space for free will and that was something that he did believe in. Free will for forces of evil as well as for good. The worst acts of some were counteracted by the best acts of others, or so they tried to balance life that way. Evil still seemed to triumph even when it was conquered merely because of the lasting damage and pain that it caused regardless of the end results. How could good truly combat it when it was so direly outmatched? How could good combat evil and truly win without becoming one and the same in the end? A part of him understood that had happened to him in Kirkwall. He became the thing he was fighting and then he perpetrated terrible things all in the name of necessity. All because Despair had kept him from seeing any other way out. They had revoked his free will for a time and crippled his choices.
Could he have faith and yet still accept that all this evil was just allowed? Because free will existed? Not… Not in the way that the chantry had originally taught him. No, he didn’t think he could…not like that. But did that mean that the Chancellor was wrong? He didn’t know that either. Could he be right and wrong at once? Yes. That seemed to be the way of things in real life. Whatever had caused the old man to rouse, he seemed to have slipped peacefully away again and was still and silent again.
Cullen heard a shifting as one of the sleeping figures nearby roused and sat up, turning toward him. There was the glint and glimmer of shiny buckles in the dark as Dorian squinted sleepily over at them. He must have been disturbed by the soft green glimmer of his Mark. He frowned at his hand and it dimmed again as if in embarrassment. Sometimes he really did wonder if it could respond to his thoughts and not just his will. “Cullen? Are you alright?” The mage whispered quietly.
He shook his head. “No, not really…” He sat in the dark and held Roderick’s now limp hand and listened to the old man’s soft breaths, rasping and weak. He looked over at the dark shape of the mage and had a sudden absolutely terrible inspiration. Absolutely foolhardy. Senseless. Completely asinine. “Would you help me with something?” He finally asked softly in the quiet. There was a rustle in the dark as Dorian rose from his bedroll and tiptoed closer on stockinged feet to settle down beside him.
“What can I do?”
Cullen considered the thing that he had begun thinking about again, before Roderick had made his heartfelt confession and seemed to have now gone so very very still again. One thing that all his experiences had caused to grow within him, was contrariness. He did not want to accept that this was ordained. He refused to accept it. He stubbornly refused. He bullheadedly refused!
“I want to try to help him.”
The mage eyed him curiously in the dark. “All the healers have said that there is nothing to be done. I very much doubt that I could do anything they with their experience couldn’t. You do realize that I am not any stronger with healing now than I was to start with, don’t you? Whether I can craft a healing spell or not, however intricate I make it, it can only ever do so much.”
“I know…” Cullen said slowly, hesitantly. “It wouldn’t be you. It would be me.” He was fairly sure that Dorian would not approve if he had any idea what was really running through Cullen’s mind. He’d probably have some very crucial insight, being Tevinter, but Cullen was loath to speak of what he was already obstinately planning.
“You want me to craft one of my insanely complicated, yet weak healing spells so that you can empower it? And…what? Use it on the Chancellor? How will that be any different from what any of the others have done?” Dorian’s voice was incredulous, but it was also intrigued and that meant he was interested.
“...yes. Your spell is gentle. It shouldn’t hurt anything…maybe it could possibly…do something beneficial… I thought…maybe with the Anchor…”
Suddenly something in that stretch of logic made a giant leap and clicked home.
…and a sacrifice…freely given…as that seemed so important to spirits…to freely give of oneself was something significant among them. Like what Command had gifted to him, a piece of themselves that had affected him and became a part of the sum total of him. Wrath used to say that too, when he was really really trying to get him to accept something, he would say that it was being freely given. He even thought Despair had said it once or…had that been Languor? Hadn’t it? He wasn’t sure. One sloth spirit seemed just too close to another to his mind.
That was also one of the tenets of the Order, to sacrifice of oneself for the good of others and the world. How long had that been in the tenets? Since the beginning? A thousand years, possibly? But he needed magic to be offered to him first, he couldn’t supply that part. He couldn’t tap into this enhancing ability without magic present to focus on and make the function of his gem work. He couldn’t construct spells. He couldn’t weave magic whether he knew a ritual diagram from top to bottom or not. He couldn’t aberrantly cast Haste without receiving Haste first. At least, he didn’t know how to do so. The only thing he could do on his own was use the lyrium’s ability to connect or sunder, to enhance or banish, to enforce physical reality…or probably to fuel a mage’s mana, though he still had not tested that yet.
There was another quiet pause, then Dorian’s unsure voice. “...what do you mean? What is it you intend to try with the Anchor?”
Cullen heard the suspicion there immediately. Damn. Of course Dorian would be curious… or suspicious, his background and his country of origin would ensure that. He’d have to explain at least a little…and…well…maybe he should anyway. He was absolutely sure that what he was thinking about was likely both dangerous and ill advised. “The Anchor opens doorways…it…clears the way… I want…” He took a deep breath and then plunged on with a low whisper. “I want to give him some of my strength… If that is what he lacks he can have some of mine.”
The silence stretched out for a very long time and he could feel the disapproval positively radiating from Dorian now. “First. You are not an exemplar of strength just now. You can barely hold yourself upright. Second.” The mage seemed to steel himself to continue as well. He continued in a more clipped tone, but still soft. “Do you have any awareness whatsoever of the concept you are suggesting?” Oh, Dorian definitely did not like this.
He slowly nodded his head. “I do. I know you do too.” He knew that Dorian had access to Vitality. He could feel the taint of it on him, but he had never felt him use it. Vitality without demonic influence.
“It is dangerous…what you are suggesting. Even if you were a mage, toying with that is dangerous. It is pure temptation. How can you control how much you give? You have no idea what you are doing.” Dorian argued softly.
“And do you?” Cullen asked sharply in the dark. There was no reply, so he pressed on. “Freely given, freely shared. Just like how you have shared your energy with me a number of times already. It is the same.”
“It’s not! Sharing some spirit magic does not harm me, it costs nothing but mana. Doing harm to help is not an equal exchange.” Dorian’s quiet tone was flat, inarguable.
“It can be if the sacrifice on my part is willing and acceptable. I’ll regain my strength. This old man won’t, but maybe with some of my strength, maybe he could. How do you know he won’t?”
“How do you know you will regain anything you give away?” Dorian hissed into the dark. “Over the last few weeks you have shown a very terrible track record when it comes to your own health and recovery. You cannot afford to give away of yourself like this.”
Cullen looked over at him again, trying to see him in the dark. “Not anymore. I am over that now. I’m better.”
“Obviously you are doing marginally better, yes. Overnight too. And just in time to close the Breach. What fortuitous timing that was. Otherwise you would not have survived to now indulge in this altogether new form of madness.” Dorian hissed and his tone said that he was no fool to think that there was anything normal about anything that had been going on with the ex-templar lately.
Cullen took a long time to answer that. He wished that he could see Dorian’s face more clearly to gauge how he really felt about any of these topics. He chose to focus on the one that he was pursuing now. …and to absolutely avoid any of the others. “...I had a couple mages…in Kirkwall…who learned Vitality through no fault of their own, through innocent means. I made them vow to me never to use it. I could not bring myself to harm them once I understood the difference.” He admitted softly. “That's why I was so…harsh with you at first…that sensation when we first met. But I know…it was through no demonic influence. I can feel that much. I thought that maybe it was trained in Tevinter.”
There was a long moment of silence then. It was so long that Cullen was afraid that he had made a mistake saying all that. “It is not.” Was all Dorian grated out and Cullen thought it likely that he would receive no help from that corner at all now. “...but…it also…is.” The mage finally added with a very heavy, unhappy sigh. “We just don’t call it that. You made them vow because you know just as well as I do that it is dangerous…as I said before, it is temptation.”
“I’m strong enough now that I can give a little to him. If it does nothing, then so be it. If it helps… I will regain what I give.” Cullen asserted stubbornly.
“Do you know that everyone is absolutely positive that you are the Herald of Andraste now?” Dorian demanded. “Do you know what they would do if they heard you talking like this?”
“Burn me for a heretic? I’ve already been threatened.” Cullen answered quietly.
“You might think so, but no. No, they would all start lining up to be the next soul to receive a blessed piece of Andraste through her messenger since he’s just handing them out already. That’s how insane these Andrastians are. And I’m one of them, damn me for a mad fool.” Cullen paled at that very idea. As he said that last part, Dorian suddenly sounded very tired. “This… This is a senseless, imbecilic thing you want to do, Cullen.” He drew a deep breath and sighed in the dark.
Then the feel of magic bloomed from the mage, but there was no light, no evidence, no shining, brilliant diagram with colors and glitter. Dorian just held his hand out and Cullen touched it and drew. He felt the familiar spell as he took it in. It was exceptionally intricate and filled with spirit and elemental magic and a hint of Fade magic too now. There was no Vitality anywhere in it. Dorian refused to touch the stuff. Refused to use it. Cullen was glad of that even while he was planning his own foolish fumbling experiment. Why stop now? Folly is what had brought him here and, by all accounts right now, this is where he was supposed to be.
Cullen reaffirmed his grip on Roderick’s frail, cold hand. It still felt like soft parchment, limp and weightless in his grip. Then he focussed on the magic he was holding inside himself. “Just so you know… Last time I empowered healing magic was an accident and it knocked me unconscious. That was long before I knew what I could do. It might not work at all this time, with what else I am going to try.” He heard Dorian curse softly at him in Tevene and then he began to pass the magic through his lyrium, he felt it blaze brightly and then he took it to his gem, but he kept a tense hold of it and he focussed on his intention to pass it through to his sword hand. Not like Wrath of heaven, but to pass through him to the old man. As he did this, he heard an incredibly put upon sigh and Dorian’s hands came to rest on his shoulders, heavy with disapproval still. It seemed that the mage was going to help him after all, despite his misgivings.
Closing his eyes, Cullen asserted his will to draw whatever extra strength or mana he might need from Dorian, but only if he really needed to. If there was no need, then he did not want to force Dorian to do any more than he already had. Then he placed all his concentration on the idea of drawing a piece from his own personal strength and giving it to the old clerk…to share a piece of it with him…if that really was a thing that he could possibly do. If not that, then… He wanted Roderick back on his feet. He wanted him hale and healthy and yapping again. He knew he was blindly casting around in the dark hoping that it would just grant his wishes instead of being aimed and guided. Magic didn’t usually work that way, but…well, sometimes it did. Hedge magic did. He honestly gave no thought toward himself in this at all. Only for the old man before him that he just selfishly did not want to die like this. He did not want anyone to die here. No more. He reached for the Anchor and it sparked to life as he grasped Roderick’s hand more firmly between both of his. He willed it to…facilitate…if it could, if this was something that did not go against its nature, whatever that nature was. He attempted to keep all of this at the forefront of his mind.
Just as he was having his last second thoughts about what absolute idiocy he was planning, he felt the Fade and looked up to see Cole crouched on the other side of the old man, directly across from him. Those owlish ghostly eyes were eerily clear in the gloom, just like Envy’s had been.
“Blood everywhere. Monsters, madness, dying. We are all dying. The Herald stands against it and heads turn. Desperate and simple. Pure. Voices in the chantry. Years since I sung the song and felt it flowing through me, but this is real. This is real. So long since I’d felt it. Falling. Flying. Faith. And I fought him. Maker forgive me, I hope I did enough.”
He stared at Cole for a heartbeat…and that was all the encouragement he needed to feel justified with this decision.
He let it go.
A flash of lyrium spread from him, similar to when Haste was cast, but this was closer, more localized, and also seemingly more controlled. Again there was a quiet curse in his ear as Dorian let out a shocked “Kaffas!!” and his hands clamped down hard onto his shoulders, but that was all Cullen knew as a rush of energy suddenly coursed between him and Dorian like a lightning bolt and took over completely. It wasn’t quite so terrifying in its intensity like Anders’ potent, spirit enhanced healing magic had been. This was more focused, more pointed…like a warm jolt that cut through everything and bore him down under it. He stiffened as the energy zapped, as if some kind of circuit had been completed. Healing and elemental and spirit and Fade manifested and took aim…much more Fade than had been there at the start as it coursed along. So much more as the two energies between his hands combined and then passed into the old man.
A withdrawal headache he didn’t even realize he still had suddenly became so much worse. Something else also scooped away like water evaporating off him, but this was a completely intangible sensation that he didn’t really understand and could not pinpoint. It made him feel both heavier and lighter at once. If there was anything of his injuries left after the healings he’d been given, they were swept away too, but he was no longer conscious enough to be aware of most of that. Absolutely inarguable pure exhaustion crashed into him and he fell back, eyes rolling up in their sockets. In reality the entire thing took only seconds and then he was dead weight in Dorian’s arched grip and they both fell back, Cullen on top. The Tevinter mage wore a thoroughly shocked expression as he was born down with an embarrassing squawk to be squashed beneath Cullen’s awkward and heavy bulk.
If they had managed not to disturb the sleepers around them up until that point, that was no longer the case anymore. Everyone on that side of the large tent woke from the flash of light and the sparking, angry, crackling pops from the Anchor. There were more curses and exclamations as the rest of the inner circle and companions who had all gone to their rest near the Herald struggled out of their bedrolls in alarm.
Cassandra was there next to them in an instant. “...What…? What is the meaning of this? What just happened? What did you just do??” There was nothing to differentiate whether she was accusing Dorian or Cullen or both.
Light blossomed in the tent as a magelight popped into being overhead and every eye in the space turned to now stare in absolute surprise and shock at Roderick. The old man that everyone expected would not rouse ever again weakly pushed himself to sit up on his mat and blinked around in confusion at the unexpected activity. The old man’s surprised gaze stopped on the unconscious templar that lay on the ground beside him, sprawled across Dorian, as if he’d just tripped and fallen there or collapsed. The large, heavy, limp warrior had flattened Dorian down onto his back and now, like a very handsomely mustachioed turtle, the mage was stuck beneath him and could barely breathe.
First and foremost, Dorian had a moment of near frenzied terror that he’d just helped the Herald of Andraste kill himself and he immediately pressed his fingers blindly to Cullen’s clammy throat to search for a pulse. The only thing that kept him from falling completely into incoherent hysteria was that the pulse he found was strong and steady, racing actually. Thank the heavens and all that was holy!!! He hadn’t been prepared for this sort of outcome whatsoever. Who possibly would have expected a scene like this? Well, alright, maybe he might have had a few moments to entertain a similar situation before, but perhaps with candles and not any hysteria and it would have been much more private and the swooning would have been after, not before, and it certainly would never involve so many witnesses!! No, actually there were not any similarities to this after all.
Roderick’s strong, unwavering and waspish voice rolled through the room. “What is happening? The…Herald? Is that the Herald? Is he alright? Someone do something! Why are you all just gawking like that? The Herald has returned to us by Andraste’s grace and the Maker’s will and all you all can do is sit and stare like wool brained idiots?! Get him taken care of already! Andraste save me from fools!”
Dorian just swung his unnaturally pale and strained face around to stare stupidly wide eyed at the grouchy, gruff, and chastising old man who seemed…better…and was now looking at them all as if they were idiot children in need of guidance and scrutiny. It couldn’t be! This was really inconceivable! “Uh.........yes, quite… What are you all waiting for? It is like a giant stone has rolled onto me! I already survived the avalanche, I have no wish to be smothered now, like this!”
The Iron Bull, who incidentally did not look like he had been startled awake like everyone else did, finally stepped in to carefully gather up Cullen, who was not quite unconscious, but he seemed to be floundering right on the edge of it. “Eh, you like it, Vint. Don't lie.” He came to hook his large hands beneath Cullen’s armpits and Thom appeared, rumpled and hair askew from sleep, to help lift Cullen’s legs. Together they hoisted Cullen up and deposited him back onto his own bedroll and stood looking down at him in uncertainty.
“Now tell me what just happened!” Cassandra ordered imperiously.
“Good lord, woman! Yes, yes, yes, give me a moment to settle my mind now that I can breathe again and I will! Venhedis kaffan vas!!”
Dorian cursed as he got up on surprisingly wobbly legs and brushed himself off. He was extremely discombobulated and he did not appreciate all the shouting in his direction while he tried to wrap his shell-shocked mind around what the hell had just happened! His normally vast mana well had gone nearly empty with whatever Cullen had just done! In three seconds time! That had hurt! Having that much mana just ripped out of him in an instant was not pleasant! Why had he allowed Cullen to do that??! Of all the foolish things! Not only could that surely have killed Cullen or them both if he were not as strong as he was, but now they had to listen to Cassandra and the Chancellor barking again!
‘Why did you do that, Dorian?! Why??! …Oh, yes…well…that would be…because I hadn’t actually thought it would work, of course!!! But apparently it did!! It worked! Or something worked. This man is the strangest iteration of a lyrium champion that I have ever heard of! That’s why, damn it all!!’ He mentally shouted at himself because there was no one else around here to do it properly after he did stupid things like this. He had to do it all himself!
“Well, shit.” The comment was Bull’s. As no one else seemed inclined to ask it yet he figured he might as well. Of course he knew the answer, but it was important to establish these things out loud when so many people were involved and didn’t know how to react. “Is he still alive?”
Everyone within the little tent just stared in uncertain concern and still no one moved, perhaps they were afraid to face the truth if he was not. Then the fade-beast stood up calmly and padded over to snuffle all over Cullen and even gave Dorian and the Chancellor cursory snuffles as well and they all disbelievingly watched that too. Then the dog sat himself down unconcernedly beside Cullen again and contentedly continued panting away.
The exhausted Herald finally groaned and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was still floundering in dizzy semi-consciousness. “...I’m alive. …I might have…done something a bit…impulsive. …It’s fine.”
“Oh good! He is alive! And conscious! Look at that! Wonderful! Then he can explain it to you himself! I shall leave him to it! I am going back to bed!” Dorian snapped testily and he did just that, stalking shakily back to his bedroll and rolling himself into it with his back to everyone.
Honestly, Dorian really did need to lie down for a bit while he recovered from that awful draining experience, but he was not about to admit it outloud to anyone here. He still wasn’t actually sure what Cullen had really done, but whatever it was, it took a boatload of his mana to accomplish it. A thought crossed his mind and was appalling; If he hadn’t been touching the man would the effort have merely failed or would it have stripped the Cullen completely of essence to make up for lack of mana? Mafarath’s balls! Yet he still couldn’t put off the inevitable excitement that always came to him after a successful experiment. Maker above, he was not equipped to be the voice of reason! He couldn’t be that! They would both surely die next time if that was supposed to be the case!
The only other person that had not gotten riled up with everyone else was Solas. The elf was sitting up on his own mat and frowning thoughtfully. He did not really look like he’d been shocked from his slumber either.
~ * ~
Cullen did not do a very acceptable or detailed job at explaining anything. He wasn't about to tell them that he had just possibly experimented with using his own vital essence to try to strengthen and enhance a healing spell. He was not going to explain what Vitality was either. He just…said that he and the Chancellor had been talking and then the old man seemed like he started to weaken and wane and so he…he tried…to use his technique to share some of his strength to him.
Which was met with incredulity and the instant that someone asked that he perhaps give an illustration of what it was that he had done, that managed to draw Dorian right back out of his bedroll to snarl at them all that under NO CIRCUMSTANCES was Cullen to try to do the imbecilic thing that he had done AGAIN! That it very well would have killed him if Dorian hadn't been there to offset the drain with his own mana. If it had been a stronger spell to start with, then it could have injured them both! They should just be happy that the Chancellor was feeling a bit better, but not be ready to kill their Herald to test a fucking fluke from a fucking whim!
“There is a reason that people don’t just go around handing out measures of their own strength to anyone that could use a pick me up!!”
It was the other mages in the room that frowned and then all gave one another complicated, pointed glances in response to Dorian’s angry tirade. Then they all also agreed that this entire topic should be put to rest along with all of the rest of them. Thank goodness for southern scared cats that were stuck in their cramped and comfortable little boxes and so reluctant to experiment! Finally, everyone seemed to calm back down and they returned to sleep.
The exhaustion was so overwhelming again that Cullen couldn't even think about avoiding sleep.
~ * ~
When he again awoke to the Fade he found that there was less red hanging over it now. That potion really did seem to help even here. Still, he did his best to try to hold himself back, separate from his demon anyway. He did not want to succumb to whatever Reverie might be inclined toward while still under that red influence. He had hoped…hoped beyond hope that giving them their name might have flipped that coin to the other side. He’d thought that it had for a short time, but he was beginning to suspect better now. He did not make his armor disappear this time and he felt Reverie’s coils shift with discontent.
“Why are you so cold to me now?” The voice was soft, cajoling, entreating. It made him want to give in. It made him feel unreasonable not to. “…is it because the Other has returned? He has a new mortal. He is one with them and made his accord. He cannot have you now. You are mine.”
“It’s… No… It’s because you are…you’re…holding too tightly...” He answered with heaviness.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Will you please let me go? I want some space.” There was a long moment of silence and he could feel Reverie’s agitation now. They were not happy at all.
“Would you rather play with the abomination again than indulge with me now? Have I not been pleasant company for you?”
It was a simple question, but the threat in it was clear. If Cullen pushed this, their temporary truce would be over. Maker help him, it made him hesitate. He swallowed thickly and then firmed up his resolve and held to it. “It’s not that…”
“If it is pain and punishment that you wish, I can supply that to you in spades.” They hissed softly, shifting their coils around him. “But I thought you preferred sweetness. Don’t you like the pleasant dreams you’ve been able to have with me?”
“.........I do………I… Please. I just want to stretch my legs…and…I want to… I found my soul scar. I want to look at it. Would you allow me to do that?” All the while he slowly spoke, he made absolutely no move to try to escape them. He hoped to…to…reason with them first. Things were so much better when they weren’t at odds with each other. He didn’t really want to go back to constantly running from the abomination again. From both of them, really. Every reprieve he’d been able to find over the years was absolutely precious. “Please?”
It took so long for them to react that Cullen became certain that he had made a grave error and he began to ready for some extraordinarily terrible punishment. Just as his heart started to hammer with tension, suddenly the coils around him began to loosen. Slowly. Oh so slowly they withdrew and then Reverie slid wordlessly down into their pool and vanished from view.
He watched them go and then blinked around at the barrier, then sat up carefully, water sliding off his armor. It wasn’t black like it had once been, but now was more of a subtly unreflective murkiness. There was still no attack. He looked around for the abomination and spotted it, still frozen in place where Reverie had been keeping it from him. He watched it for a moment, just to make sure it wasn’t fooling him into complacence. Then he rose to his feet and stepped away from the pool. Any second now, this could all go awry, he was certain. He turned to the pink energy wall and closed his eyes as he concentrated hard on it. He opened his eyes and willed it away. It didn’t go. Of course it wasn’t that easy for the likes of him.
He glowered at the energy barrier with annoyance. He wanted to think that after all this time he would have more control over this space. He’d been within it enough. He knew every inch of it. He concentrated again, hard, and this time he swiped irritably at the barrier with his hand, as he’d seen Dorian do in the Fade. To his surprise it helped. He felt it when he flicked his hand as if in dismissal. Like it made his effort feel more real to him and the barrier shimmered. It flexed. He pressed his hand to the barrier and it did burn, but not nearly like it once would have and he pushed the energy aside as if it were a hot cloth curtain that scorched his fingers. He stepped through quickly and when he turned back, it was as it had always been again. That was something, at least.
Now. How about that mirror… He concentrated again and made his armor vanish. That was becoming easier to do now. He checked to make sure the abomination was still frozen. Yes. Good. Now…mirror. He pictured it in his mind. A great standing mirror. Nothing so elaborate as what Dorian had made. Just a plain mirror with a frame. He pictured it right before him. Then he opened his eyes and…nothing. He changed nothing. All there was here were the rotting corpses of his fellows. The flies. The stench. The tear in the wall. No mirror. He tried some more. He tried as hard as he possibly could try. He tried until he suddenly had a headache.
With a disgruntled sigh, he stepped over all the corpses and walked out of the room toward the barracks. He knew where there was a mirror already placed for his use. He didn’t have to be stubborn about it. He went to the showers.
Stepping inside the showers was like going back in time. Everything was as it had been that morning, years ago. Normally it was kept pristine and clean, but that morning there were items strewn about everywhere. Towels and jars and bottles. Soaps and clothing. At the far back of the room there was a great splattering of red. Blood spattered the wall all the way to the ceiling and turned black where it had stuck and trailed down to the drains. He avoided the horror of the back wall and turned his attention to the changing area outside the large shower room. There were mirrors and water basins mounted on the wall there where he used to go to shave.
He strode up to one and began to undress. He pulled off his gambison, then his undershirt. Looking at himself in this particular mirror reminded him of how much he had changed from what he remembered seeing here, back at that time. He was leaner than he’d ever been, even at nineteen. And there was the angry, inflamed injury on his face. At least… At least he didn’t look old yet. He rubbed at his stubbly chin. He was definitely beginning to look a bit scruffy again, but what did one expect after being lost in the snow for a few days?
He set his folded shirt and gambison on a bench beside him and then turned until he could see the shape of the red and gold, coiling scar that curved from just over his left shoulder, down over the scapula of that side and curved across the spine to trail away near the rear of the floating ribs of his right side. There it was. It looked almost intricate, the way the edges of it curled like frozen flames licking at his skin. He rubbed over the mark where he could reach it and it felt…not exactly tender…but there was an intangible ache there still. He was so taken up with his examination of himself that he didn’t notice he wasn’t alone until he saw another hand in the mirror’s reflection, reaching out to touch the mark.
It was a human looking hand.
The sheer fright that it sparked in him was probably laughable, but it was so unexpected that he couldn’t have had any other reaction. His heart felt like it stopped for an instant and he nearly fell over the bench when he jerked away with a horrified gasp. He landed on his ass on the bench and grabbed at the wood to keep from continuing right over it. He found himself staring up into Anders’ amused, smirking face and was frozen in place with shock.
“Hi.”
He just stared uncomprehendingly up at the mage, jaw hanging askew, heart stopped in his chest all over again. The apparition stepped forward and he leaned back precariously. He couldn’t find his voice, all he could do was stare. Part of him had begun to tragically forget what the mage looked like after all this time. Another part knew absolutely every detail down to mischievous smile lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes and the smallest lock of hair that tended to fall askew on the one side. It would never stay tucked behind his ear or in his ponytail no matter what. Cullen had always thought that it was cute the way it always rebelled against the rebellious mage’s continuous attempts to tame it.
A long, thin arm reached out with delicate, dexterous fingers to caress his fallen jaw and then lifted to touch where that festering scar crossed his cheek and lip. The touch was soft and gentle, just barely featherlight. His eyes fluttered closed at the familiar warmth and care in those fingers. They felt so real. It felt like his touch. It made the pain in him flare agonizingly.
“I can’t take it away, but I can help you forget if you let me.”
That tore a sob from him suddenly and he flinched away, finally falling from his precarious perch on the bench and he scrambled away from the apparition. “No… No…please, stop… Please don’t do this…” All he could think of first was putting distance between himself and…and…and that and then…then…all he could think of was Drass.
Drass striding freely about the tower with his succubus at his side, clinging to his arm, pressing hungry, sly kisses onto his cheek as she paraded him for all the surviving templars to see and envy. Drass with that vacant, vacuous, deliriously happy smile as he had one sided conversations with the imaginary family that he Desired more than life itself.
Before he could get more than a few scrambling steps, they were there before him and he tried to jerk back again, only to stumble and lose his footing all over again. As if he were some weak, terrified civilian who didn’t know how to defend himself, as if he were some helpless child fleeing a monster. He couldn’t put together any coherent thoughts and in his extreme upset he could feel the nightmare dragging at his psyche, wrenching at his lucidity, trying to rip them from his control and send him back to the originally intended mindset of this haunted place where everything was dangerous and nothing was safe.
Anders knelt there on the ground with him, taking his head in his delicate hands and smiling so benevolently that it made his heart hurt dreadfully. “Why are you afraid? We’ve been together in dreams. Why not like this? You’ve been so lonely.”
Oh, merciful Maker, no… Had he..? Had he given in to them so thoroughly already? …Those had been memories…those had been…different… Hadn’t they been? Suddenly he didn’t know. He didn’t know what was real. What was a dream? Where did it shift from one to the other? He didn’t know at all!
Staring up into that face…that face which was…was perfect…it was exactly as he remembered him…down to the last detail. Reverie would know every single detail. He could lose himself completely in the web that they could weave for him with this face, this voice, this touch… It could be almost the real thing except for his knowledge that it wasn’t. How long would it take for him to lose that knowledge? He sobbed again and turned his face away, squeezing his eyes closed tight and feeling himself starting to hyperventilate as warm, strong arms curled around him in a soothing, consoling embrace that he wanted to return. He desperately wanted to embrace them back.
He desperately wanted it to be real.
But it wasn’t real.
Something in him was starting to crack, starting to break.
It wasn’t real.
“Please… If you do this… I won’t be able to forgive you… Don’t do this to me. Please…don’t…”
It wasn’t…wasn’t real…
There was no response for an endless moment as he clung frantically to that truth with all that he was, repeating it over and over again until the words became just sounds and lost all meaning, but still he repeated them. They were a mantra that kept him safe, kept him whole, kept him him.
Then the arms slowly withdrew.
He left him alone.
All alone.
Again.
He was all alone again.
No, it wasn’t real!
But it hurt.
It was almost more than he could bear.
The scar on his face felt hot and inflamed, it burned under his hand and throbbed painfully.
It was a while before he was able to get himself under control again. When he was finally able to steady himself enough to take in his surroundings again he found that he really was alone there on the floor of the changing room.
Blessedly alone.
He didn’t dare rise from this spot so long as it was empty and silent and quiet and he was in control of himself. He merely curled up there on the tiles and he wept until he felt completely hollow and empty and quiet. When he finally found equilibrium again he resolved to stay right there until he woke or until he was forced to wake.
He would not go back to Reverie.
He absolutely refused.
For his sanity if not for his very soul.
He understood that he had to try to sleep for as long as he could here tonight.
Because he wouldn’t sleep well again any time soon.
~ * ~
In the early afternoon Cullen woke to the heavy weight of a large, hot body pressed against him and groaned because it was heavy enough that he was having a hard time filling his lungs. He opened his eyes to find a pair of soulful chocolate ones looking right back at him again.
“Ooof…Valor…I cannot breathe. I told you you are too big to lay on my chest when I'm sleeping. You will smother me.” He groaned and pushed the big dog's head off to the side and then he hugged his thick neck tightly, pressing his nose into the soft fur and taking comfort from it. He let out a weary sigh and then chuckled softly at how purely ‘spoiled-mabari’ this behavior was. The beast just grumbled discontentedly and lazily let himself be pushed over. “You smell better now, thank goodness.”
The sound of arguing voices drew his attention and he sat up with difficulty. He was sore and tired still, but he was also still himself and as sane as he could be. He checked himself over and found that he was warm and whole and still wearing his own ripped and torn clothing, but it was clean now. His armor had been stripped off and was gone, he remembered that happening. He had a little difficulty getting up but he wasn't injured anymore, at least he didn't think so. Everything he felt was more like the strain and stress his body had been through and hadn't had time to recover from. And…oh…all that red lyrium…Corypheus was made of the stuff. That was why his body felt so stiff and his cold hands ached and his head swam when he stood and his stomach flipped delicately. He was having symptoms. He'd been so messed up before now he couldn't really tell them from his wounds. He rubbed at his face tiredly. What was he going to do? He had a terrible problem now.
Another one.
“You should continue to rest. They do not need your voice to join in where theirs are already doing little good.”
He looked over to find Mother Giselle sitting by the heater where Vivienne had been before. “Oh, I have no intention to go shout at anyone.” He found that potion and cup still sitting nearby. He poured a small amount and sipped at it and waited for that gentle warmth to take over his stomach while he listened to the shouts. Once he felt steady enough, he looked out of the tent and spotted Cassandra, Leliana, Commander Rylen, and Chancellor Roderick all having a great row about the state of Inquisition affairs. Instead of shaking his head at the argument, he smiled with relief at the fact that the old purse dog seemed to be back on his feet again and full of spit and vinegar. That was good. That made him feel better. Even if the man's voice was like nails on a chalkboard to him. “But what they are doing is helping no one and will only upset those who are depending on them to show strength and solidarity.”
He looked about slowly and found his boots and his mantle. It had seen better days, but it was clean again and still warm. He pulled it on and tied it closed and began to sedately walk out there, Valor padding along at his side. When he reached the edge of their shouting circle, he stopped and watched them go at each other until they finally noticed him there. Surprisingly, it was old Roderick who hurried over to him.
“Herald! You are awake! Praise the Maker, He smiles upon us still!”
It was very strange to have the chancellor not only smile at him, but to look excited to see him, even happy about it. It was not uncomfortable, exactly, but it was unexpected. “Uh…yes, it is good to see you back on your feet too, Chancellor.”
“Yes! A miracle from our Lady. As your return to us is yet another miracle! Please, Herald, you must lead these people to see reason! Surely they will listen to you.” The old man entreated.
Cullen only frowned at them all and shook his head. “No. Whatever this is about, it must stop and wait for cooler heads. There are over three hundred souls here listening to you fight and fall apart. This stops now. I know that there are a dozen things which you all do agree on. Do those things now instead. Save the difficult decisions for when you are calm and somewhere out of the eyes of the people who depend on you to be strong. Don’t force them to hear your fear and doubts. They have enough of their own already.”
The four of them seemed to be chastened a bit by his admonishment. They all looked at one another and came to mutual agreement to do as suggested. There were things that needed to be done and could be done first. Cullen moved to walk alongside Commander Rylen and together they conducted rounds on the encampment. It was slightly uncomfortable how everyone seemed to know him now and were all in awe of his survival or his willing sacrifice so they could escape, or for something or other else that he had no idea was even a rumor or happening. Still, he got his head around the state of things and gave the Commander some suggestions where they were needed and commended him where they were not. Rylen was doing as exemplary a job as he was capable of, just as Cullen knew that he would. He could see that the man was having some troubles of his own too. Before leaving Rylen, Cullen fished in his pouch and produced the bottle of potion that Dorian had made and saved for him. He might not be quite back to normal yet, but he was good enough. Rylen needed this more than him right now. “I have a potion that helps dull some of the symptoms. This is all there is right now. If you stretch it, it might help over the next week or so. When we can, I will get some more made and have the recipe and ingredient list added to the potion roster.
“Sir…are you certain? I assure you, I’m fine. I’m handling it. It will not get in the way of my duties.” Commander Rylen assured him.
Cullen just shook his head. “I don’t doubt you. If you need it, here it is. If not, hold onto it for when you do. I am doing better right now and I’m used to going without. The important thing is being able to deal with this ordeal we are in now. All other things can wait.”
“Cullen. A word.”
A familiar voice spoke up behind him and Cullen turned to greet Solas who looked very serious, as per usual. The elf looked like he had something heavy on his mind. “Of course.”
~ * ~
They wandered a ways away from the encampment, up onto a rise that looked out across this section of the Frostbacks. It was beautiful and it was desolate. There was little life to be spied as far as the eye could see. Just rock and ice and snow and here and there sparse clumps of scrubby and spindly pines that were accustomed to the never ending cold. Cullen and Solas had hiked up in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts for the most part. Now that they stood looking out at the glittering swathe of white before them, it seemed it was time for Solas to reveal the ‘word’ he wished.
Even when Cullen turned toward him expectantly, Solas stayed silent another moment as he looked out over these very familiar mountainous spires. All of this felt very familiar to Solas. He’d been through something similar before. Right here. Right along these paths and passes. Seeking shelter in the most inhospitable of places…for secrecy…for security…for survival. He found that it had struck a chord in him, otherwise he would never even consider what he found himself about to do. To help this group. This Inquisition. For whatever little good it would do them, for whatever short time that this would even matter. He had his own stake in this, though. His own reasons to want to see them succeed now, when he hadn’t truly cared before. This Elder One was a mistake. It should never have happened.
As much as he did not care for the plight of humans…this was not only a human problem.
“There are moments that can unify causes or fracture them. Your people are in a moment like that now. I think you know this or you would not have stepped in the way you did back there. I respect how you have handled yourself and how you’ve handled them.” He looked down at the spirit possessed creature that padded alongside Cullen and his gaze lingered on it. “You seem to have a unique relationship of your own with spirits. I can see why you kept it to yourself for so long among those who are driven by their fears…and I understand why you chose to reveal it when you did as well. Valor is a remarkable creature. I am glad to see you reunited with him in such a positive manner.”
At being included in the conversation, Valor’s attention swung away from the surrounding landscape and he smiled toothily up at Solas and Cullen. This one likes me. He likes me very much. I am so adorable that he likes you more when I’m with you.
Cullen looked down at the beast at his side and smiled fondly at him. He reached down and scratched his shoulders. “There were times that were terrible between us. When we were at such odds and completely…completely alien to each other. I know that if I had given in to him, it would have been disastrous for us both. But to see what has come of his meeting with a creature who was more worthy than I, more…pure of heart and noble than I am… I’m glad to get to know him like this.”
Solas considered that and then nodded and continued. “And Cole. He is unquestionably a spirit. Of Compassion, I believe…though I do not know what the true meaning is of the name he chose for himself. You have taken him in as well without reserve or hesitation. It tells me much about the character of this hero that you are beginning to fill out.”
Cullen remembered that first conversation they’d had about the question of his heroics. He didn’t think he was any more accepting of the idea now than he was then, but his participation in all of this seemed to be on its own course, regardless of his intentions at this point. “I wouldn’t say that it was without reservation, but just with caution. I met a spirit of Command recently which has also affected my perspective a bit on spirits.” He considered the elf and wondered if he dared broach the topic of his problem with Reverie or not. He was not sure just yet. It seemed prudent to hold his tongue still. It did not occur to him that he might not be the one holding it.
“What is it that you wanted to talk about?”
Solas turned back to the view again for a moment. “The orb that Corypheus carries. The power that he attempted to use against you. It is elven. He used that orb to open the Breach. The unlocking of it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the conclave and killed everyone within. I do not yet know how Corypheus survived nor am I certain how people will react when they learn of the orb’s origin.”
Cullen just watched the elf as he spoke. Was this to be another admission? Like Thom’s? Or… He realized Solas was waiting for his reaction to what he just said. He nodded slowly. “Alright. Elven in origin. Perhaps that is why I felt so certain that this…” He lifted his hand and looked at the green glow. “...was the same as your own. It does feel…similar. …How do you know this?”
Solas folded his arms behind his back and continued. “They were foci. Used to channel old magic. I have seen them in the Fade and there are depictions of them in Tevinter. That nation was built on the bones of my people and our magic.” He continued to frown out over the landscape. “I do not know how Corypheus gained possession of the artifact, but he cannot be allowed to retain it and twist it to his means.”
“No, he cannot.” Cullen agreed with the elf. “He has already changed it some. I think he has already worked blood magic into it.”
“I believe that the Inquisition must stop him.” Solas paused a moment with a complexly angry expression and then plunged on. “There is a place within these mountains. A secret shelter that belongs to no nation. It also is elven in origin. I have seen it in the Fade. I watched homeless elves flee to it during the height of the time of upheaval that my people experienced. A force built it and kept it and then abandoned it. A force much like yours. It is a place of safety that the Inquisition may hold while it prepares to face this foe. I can point you there, but I do not know its exact location. The landscape has changed from what it once was. You are the Herald, you are a symbol. You must scout the way and lead them to it. Take them on their holy pilgrimage. In that way, you can see them unified under a common cause and belief. There is strength in faith, whether you share it with them or not.”
“It's that obvious, is it?” Cullen asked ruefully.
“Not so obvious, but who would not have doubts after having experienced similar things? Like myself. The elves are ruled by their gods just as strongly today as they were a thousand years ago. I do not share that faith with them. I have seen too many things in the Fade not to question such undeserved loyalty.”
He thought about that a moment, then Cullen shook his head. “I… I don't know where free will ends and preordainment is supposed to begin. The two…they don't fit together well for me. How can they? And how can so many place all their hopes and faith on just one person? I don't want to be that one person. It is enough that I am the one person with this Anchor, that is more than enough responsibility for one to carry. I will take a group with me to search out this place you know. Will you be part of it?”
Solas found that he was surprisingly pleased by that response. It was earnest and it was not said from a place of fear, but from one of humility and respect and perhaps even wisdom. He never expected such from a human, certainly not from a templar or an Andrastian.
“I will.” Solas agreed with the first honest smile that he truly meant in quite some time.
~ * ~