Chapitre 15: Chapter 15: Blood On The Snow
Evelyn discovered herself amidst a jumbled heap of petrified wood, recklessly scattered at the foundation of the ruins. The frigidity that permeated her form indicated that she must have lain on the timber for quite some time before her senses returned. The chill had numbed her to such a degree that the enormous splinter impaled through her left shoulder almost went unnoticed. Almost. When she tried to remove it, a sharp pain throbbed through her arm up to her neck. Her cries of agony echoed through the empty passageway. As firm as she could make her fist around the wood, she yanked it out catching herself off balance. She rolled from the pile, landing cheek-to-stone on the ground. Blood spilled all over the stone making her feel instantly weak at the sight of it. She tried to push herself up, but her left arm was utterly useless. As she struggled, a slow drip of blood was making its way down the ridge of her nose. Apparently, she was bleeding from her head somewhere too.
She closed her eyes, shutting out the image of visceral life ebbing from her forcing herself to get up. Her legs seemed functional, so scrunching them up beneath her body she pushed herself up to her knees then again to her feet. The effort left her dizzy and she stumbled into the wall, grabbing it as if her life depended on it. Her hands were bloodied and dirty, with a black layer under her fingernails. Holding a hand to her head wound, she tried to heal some of the cut so it would at least stop bleeding. After a short burst of relief, she hoped it was enough unable to check it. She then put the hand to her shoulder but the wound was just too severe and beyond her meager talents even for her to relieve the pain.
As she took some deep steadying breaths she looked around seeing she was in some decrepit part of the ruins Leliana had found that was used by the Cult of Andraste. There seemed to be only one way out, for which she was thankful for to not have to decide in her sorry state. Walking with the assistance of the wall, she struggled to keep her mind focused as her eyes threatened to close with their fluttering. Try as she might, she felt herself slumping lower and lower to the ground as she continued blindly on.
"You said you had a nightmare?" Cullen's voice pulled her from memories that were like an old wound. Time helped to heal it, yet every nightmare tore it open and she felt the raw emotions all over again.
"Yes," she answered timidly, " from back when I was in the Circle." This new idea of being open and serious about the things bothering her made her nervous. It was his idea and she agreed to it after her red lyrium poisoning, but she was finding it more difficult than she thought it'd be. She had made a promise to Hector though, and knew he was usually right about these things. Cullen looked equally just as uncomfortable, yet had made the time to talk with her when she approached him about it earlier in the day.
"You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready." He leaned over his knees on the chair dropping his head to rub the back of his neck, relieving some apparent tension. She knew he was just as nervous about sharing his past trauma, so out of goodwill she forced herself to continue.
"No, I-I do want to. As you know, thanks to Leliana, I had issues with a Templar while living in Ostwick." He nodded in remembrance as she continued, "I was already having nightmares about the night the Circle fell, but since taking red lyrium the memory has been… altered." She realized it was going to be difficult to explain the nuances of the nightmares without telling him some details. "Ilara and I were in our room. She had just cleaned me up after a run-in with Ser Aeron, which happened to be the same incident that the rebel mages claim began the uprising."
"You said he had gotten physical with you."
She tapped her head where he had smashed it against the wall. She could still feel the impact followed by the chill of the stone against her face. "It was the third time in one day and he had finally drawn blood."
"Forgive me, but I find it hard to believe you just allowed this to happen. Why didn't you fight back?"
"I was-- all senior Enchanters were under orders from the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander not to escalate tensions between Templars and mages. If I would've fought him, then I truly would have begun the rebellion in the Circle." A look of understanding passed between them. It was like being stuck between a rock and a hard place.
"I had only just become a Knight when the mages of the Circle I was stationed in had experienced such fervor and sought to free themselves." He paused and she watched his knuckles turn white as he wrung his hands together. He shared so little with her of his pain if he did, it was always missing the key details. "I'm sorry you suffered, but you probably saved a lot of lives by doing so. Watching your friends die is... forgive me, please continue," he shook himself clearly trying to get a handle on some deep seeded emotions that were threatening to escape.
"Um, right, we were in our room when we heard the sounds of screams coming from the hall. I told Ilara to pack a bag and I was hurrying to get my armor on when, um, Ser Aeron and two other Templars barged in." He sat back and wiped a hand down his face, knowing full well where this story was headed. She just nodded grimly to him confirming his assumptions. "This is where my memory gets fuzzy. Ilara told me that I had killed all three men before they could... you know," she shrugged, but at her next words fear rose within her, "but the red lyrium..." she trailed off as brief snippets of each lyrium-embellished atrocity committed against her and Ilara came back to haunt her. Even though her eyes were fixed on a spot on her desk, she didn't see it - in fact, her subconscious had completely hijacked her mind and eyes seeing only the red memories.
Evelyn could hardly see through the howling squall as she stepped clumsily out from cover. The wind gusts were so strong she leaned into it so she wouldn't fall back; especially when it had now become extremely more difficult to get back up. She thanked the Maker that she was already beyond cold to the point of complete numbness so she couldn't feel the additional pain of the icy snow that was hitting her exposed skin. The incisive frost that infiltrated her mind emanated from the gash on her head, the result of losing her helmet, her sole headgear, at some undetermined moment. Her marked arm hung lifelessly at her side and she was fairly certain aside from the puncture wound to it, it must be dislocated.
Trudging and stumbling as she walked to an unknown destination, she tried to warm herself by heating her armor with her magic. She placed her working hand on the metal, heating it, even the slightest amount of heat was painful, but it served to keep her awake and moving. The snow was getting deeper and the ground steeper as she realized she was headed up a mountainside. She kept her head down and was determined to survive to at least tell the others about Corypheus and his plans. Each step up was more difficult than the last, but she wasn't about to let that asshole destroy the world for his own vanity. Whether Andraste saved her from the Conclave or not, she was given a second chance while everyone else had perished. There had to be a reason, and if rivaling him was it, she would make him curse the day he decided to attack Haven.
After what seemed an eternity, she was brought back by the scrape of his chair legs as he went to get up. The creases of worry lines on his face were deeper in the candlelight. She held her hand up, halting him.
"I'm all right, the memories just--"
"Overwhelmed you." He finished her words and sat back down. His amber eyes were sympathetic, not pitiful. She didn't need him to tell her he was sorry or 'how awful it must've been,' she needed someone who could understand the fallout from these events. She stood and made her way over to where Owayne had left her a bottle of whiskey. Drinking was how he dealt with his problems, and so he left her a bottle for her private comfort. It was still unopened, but she felt to go on some liquid courage was needed. She didn't bother asking and poured two glasses, leaving one beside him on the desk. Before she sat back down, she took her drink in one shot, then poured herself a second to nurse.
"When Cassandra and the others had found me at Sampson's camp trapped in the waking dream, reliving the assault over and over again," her voice caught in her throat as her heart pounded and she looked up at the ceiling trying to blink back tears. He whispered a quiet 'take your time' as if speaking any louder would cause her to shatter like glass. Clearing her throat she pushed through the pain, but couldn't bring herself to look at him, "each time it was just a different way to be tortured before dying. I prayed for death," her voice finally gave and that last part was barely audible. "But then the memory would just start all over again." She chanced a look over at him and he too couldn't bring his gaze from the floorboards. "I'm sorry if this is making you uncomfortable, I can stop--"
"No!" he cleared his throat, "No, it's not. I just know what that's like. To want death, and yet, as much as I wanted to give in I... I couldn't." She stared at him observing the subtle changes as he spoke. His shoulders slumped slightly, not standing as tall nor as broad as they typically did. The tight muscles of his face were relaxed, not in comfort but rather in defeat. Right as she went to take a sip of her drink, he caught her eye and she paused inclining her head towards his own glass. Taking her suggestion, she let him finish his mouthful before she filled the silence in the room.
"Neither could I," his face lifted finally to meet her eyes as they had been deep at the bottom of his glass, "I was given the choice to give into the lyrium's madness, to let it have me as its puppet, but I chose torture over and over again. I can still hear Aeron's voice ask me if I've had enough, if I was ready for it to end." He held out an open hand out between them while a few tears ran down her cheeks. It was the saving hand that never came for her. It seemed an unremarkable thing, but to them, it was a second chance to lift themselves from the darkness together. His warmth was comforting and safe, and when she felt him squeeze her hand she knew this was a man who like her, was too proud to show people weakness. That he'd rather suffer in silence than burden another with his troubles. What made him finally decide to approach her about it she would ask in time, but whatever the reason she was glad he did.
The sight of a dark mass of trees tore her from her memories. She needed to rest and find cover from the gusting wind she had been walking into for who knows how long. Her mana was all but depleted leaving her even weaker with all her wounds. The tall pines were a poor excuse for cover, but she flopped herself down against one of the trunks regardless. As the wind ripped around her, all she could see before her was darkness. The crushing feeling of doom hung in the air now that she was still. The motivation she had was fading as exhaustion began to win out over all else. The pain from her injuries throbbed through the cold, and she knew she was in bad shape, especially as the shoulder wound was still bleeding. It was only now that she realized the splinter had torn through her armor, which hung from one shoulder. The whole area around the wound was soaked in blood and the stain had traveled down her side to her hip.
The longer she sat there, the quicker her consciousness was slipping from her due to the deep cold she now felt in her bones. She forced herself to think, but nothing came. A whirlwind of emotions followed the realization that she was dying: Panic because she was the only one who could seal rifts. Dread because she was not ready to meet the Maker after he just showed her a new purpose to live. Fear for those she would be leaving behind without her protection. Her eyes widened, and in a desperate act to signal someone, anyone, she used the last of her mana in a fiery explosion. Slumping back against the tree she struggled to open her eyes. Without her magic there was nothing keeping her going but the small hope someone out there saw her last spark of life ignite.
***
Three hours and six search parties later the Herald was still not found. They were running out of healthy soldiers to send. Owayne had gone out on everyone he possibly could before finally collapsing from exhaustion. Every mage still standing was tending to the wounded and every soldier worked to erect tents, make anything slightly resembling food and perform other duties as needed to make camp to survive the night.
Cullen had his own injuries but if he could stand, he could work - though his list of wounds was increasing by the hour as he noticed new cuts and bruises as he continued. His muscles ached, it had been some time since he was in sustained combat like that. It hurt to inhale too deeply most likely due to broken ribs from being batted around by red lyrium behemoths. His forehead stung from a cut he received from stupidly lowering his shield too soon against a flurry of ice shards slung at him by a mage. His armor had done its job but he feared some pieces were beyond repair. Armor, he thought and remembered the outstanding bet he made with Evelyn. He hoped against hope that he'd be able to make good on that bet.
He looked up from the map he was hunched over looking at those hurrying past him. By how frequently healers stopped to inquire after his health, he was fairly certain his head was still bleeding to a worrisome degree. He didn't think much of it though and told them to check back after they saw to his men. Runners with hot broth and water were sent around, but again he declined. Each time he did so, Ilara just gave him a look from the large open tent across from his where she was tending patients. Henley, Sorin, Blackwall, Owayne and Iron Bull with some of his Chargers were all resting and recovering there.
One of the first things he did was set up a table under a small canvas. They couldn't spare anything larger as the wounded needed cover from the mountain wind and weather. The temporary 'War Room' was barely even high enough for him to stand under. Pouring over the map and reading the very short stack of scouting reports, he tried to discern where exactly they were. Through the noise of camp, he could hear the three women bickering their way over to him and he groaned messaging his temples. He tried to ignore the sound of his name being called, but straightened knowing there was going to be no getting around their plethora of bad ideas.
"Cullen," he sighed at hearing his name for what felt like the hundredth time, "the Ambassador wishes to announce immediately that the Inquisition is alive and well. What are your thoughts?"
"Absurd," his voice carried his annoyance, "you cannot just announce that after a major battle in which we lost, terribly. For one, we don't know where our enemy is. Send ravens and they could lead that army right here to finish us off."
"But their army was buried by the avalanche, how many men could Corypheus still command?" He controlled the urge to scoff at Josephine's assessment of the aftermath.
"That army was fueled by red lyrium, who knows what kind of powers it gave them. Did you not see the Red Templars with crystals growing from them?" He acutely felt his ribs throb at their mention. "We know what the Herald did with a cup of it, let alone what someone could do with it growing from them! My guess would be we temporarily stopped them, not killed them. You send word that we are alive and they will hunt us down."
"Josie has a point, what if word reaches Orlais and Ferelden that we've been destroyed? Not only will we lose a great deal of influence, but it will cause panic. Who would protect the people from rifts? Corypheus wants to sew chaos through Southern Thedas. With the Herald dead--"
"We don't know that for certain." Cullen cut in. "We've found no sign to indicate either way if--"
"Regardless," Cassandra held a hand up to him. The advisors were too on edge to even allow each other the courtesy of finishing a sentence and it wore on his patience, "dead or alive she needs to be found. Solas believes even if she had perished that there is a small chance the magic of her mark may survive. I don't think I need to emphasize the dire situation we'd be in if the Elder One found her first."
"What do you think I'm doing here exactly?" The Seeker's glare narrowed as he snapped a bit at her. "Leliana's scouts' reports have come back with very little useful information as visibility is poor in the valley." At the criticism, the Left Hand's face drifted to a cold countenance and her avian-like gaze bore into him, but he didn't care. "It's a miracle that I can approximate where we are let alone try to find one woman in the mountains from this." He held up the few crumpled reports in his fist.
"Ser," Cullen turned at the man's urgent call, "it's-- there's something you should see." He pointed towards the path down into the valley. Hardly visible above the drifting snow and the rise of the mountain was a thin stem of smoke rising into the sky. He and The Right Hand hurried along behind the scout to the crest of the path. Having no one else to send to investigate, they quickly readied themselves to leave with the scout who believed there to be a small cluster of trees where the smoke was coming from. With time working against them, they raced to gather supplies and gear.
"Take these," Ilara shoved a few healing draughts into his hand, "a blanket, water…" She looked about the tent picking up several objects with a huff. "I have no bandages to give you."
"Hopefully we won't need them." Her golden hair whipped around and with a hand on her hip she gave him a look.
"We are still talking Evie, aren't we?" She took on a playful smirk, "The girl could find trouble walking to a Chantry service." He shook his head smiling slightly to himself, knowing that to be true. "It'll be all right, I'm sure she's fine. Are you certain I can't go with you?"
"You have your hands full here. Once we find her we'll do what we can to stabilize her, but bring her straight back here to the tent." He nodded toward a tent that was being prepared for her in whatever state they found her in, assuming that the fire was set by her. Ilara shuddered and rubbed her arms as she looked out towards the smoke. "Don't worry, she's strong and too stubborn, like with everything else, to die." Seemingly reassured by his words, he turned to leave.
"Oh, and Commander," he looked back, met with a hand to his head as she closed the cut there. She spun her finger, ordering him to turn around also seeing to the slash on his back. "What good will you be if you can't bring yourself back," she said scolding him like a mother. When he faced back around to thank her, she added, "If she does have major bleeding, burning the wound could buy you time needed to get her back here." He nodded gravely at the implications before jogging to catch up with the others.
The slow trek back down the mountain was eerily quiet as none of them could hear much through the wintery squall. His mind was going a mile a minute playing out every scenario in which they found her; dead, clinging to life, frozen or impossibly unharmed he tried to have a plan ready in any case. He remembered the way she had looked at him as she left the Chantry to face the Elder One, it had all but stopped his heart. In hindsight, how could he have been so stupid letting her go out there, he should have fought her harder, insisting, no ordering, her to leave with Chancellor Rodrick. She was too important to them to lose, regardless of what this Elder One wanted with her. Without her who would seal the rifts? As his mind followed this train of thought, it forced him to confront the reality that he was becoming attached to her.
He wasn't blind to the attention she gave him, he knew of a number of women who did the same but he had never once given into flirting except with her. It had been easy in the past to dismiss others for any number of reasons, mostly due to interference in his duty, but he couldn't seem to rid himself of thoughts about her. Perhaps it was because he was no longer bound by The Order and their rules, nor was she bound by Circle law. Possibilities he had not considered and had resigned to never having were suddenly possible. He was a free man to choose what he wanted and who he wanted.
Evelyn was certainly beautiful with her two-toned long hair, soft square jaw and fiery brown eyes. The scar on her cheek and nose enhanced her fierceness, yet did not take away from her attractiveness. He liked that she dressed fairly modest, but the way she wore those tight leather pants and thigh-high boots had caused him to think many impure thoughts. Though she may not have been the first woman he'd ever thought about with concupiscence, she was the first to make him reciprocate. It hit him that perhaps his attraction toward her wasn't just physical, but something deeper.
She carried herself with a sense of purpose that was both commanding and inspiring. It was clear that this woman had a mission, and that she was not one to be deterred by obstacles or setbacks. For all her strength and determination, there was a vulnerability to her. Here was a woman who had experienced hardship and adversity, yet refused to be defined by it. Evelyn used humor as a shield, to hide the pain that she carried deep within. It was as if she believed that by making light of her struggles, she could somehow lessen their impact on her life, and at times on others as he remembered her joking about the scar he had given her on her leg. It pained him to think back knowing that even while she was the one suffering then, she had put his feelings before her own.
"There!" Cassandra shouted and Cullen looked up from the snowy ground to see several pine trees on fire just a short distance away. As fast as they could through the knee-deep snow, the trio ran kicking up more snow into the smoky wind. Slumped against one of the charred pine trees sat a figure. Their face was turned away from them but the occasional sporadic green flicker told him it could be only one person. He rushed to her side and immediately began assessing her condition. Cassandra knelt beside him, immediately cupping her unconscious face in both hands. She ran her hands down the sides of her pale face affectionately trying to elicit a response with no luck.
"Cassandra," his voice was low as he lifted the sundered armor from her shoulder revealing the gaping wound. Something had clearly been lodged there to create such a tear. The Seeker watched with rising despair as he took his gloved hands away covered in fresh gore. Moving his eyes down her side, he could see she had lost a lot of blood from this wound alone. It had run down soaking her armor and clothes. He had to swallow down the surge of nausea that had swelled up in his throat. He quickly felt around her torso and back not feeling or seeing any other major lacerations. There was a cut on her forehead but he assumed if it was worrisome Cassandra would've said so.
"She's breathing but it's weak. We need to try and wake her. Hand me a potion." He dug one of the vials out of his pocket. After handing it off and uncorking it, she tilted Evelyn's head back pressing it to her lips, pouring in a few trickles. They waited with bated breath but she didn't even stir. As she tried again, he spotted a long-jagged splinter still embedded in her shoulder. He slowly pulled it out not wanting it to break or lose it in the dim light. With a sharp inhale, the Herald finally stirred looking wearily at them. When she saw the wood in his hand, she raised her shaky unmarked hand to point at him.
"Do that again, and I will burn your pants off." Her voice was raspy and part way through she took a wheezy breath, but she was lucid. He couldn't help but sigh in relief for a brief moment, and neither could the others. Quickly unrolling the blanket, he tilted her forward to throw it around her. She gave a small groan before stiffly leaning back again.
Turning to the scout, he ordered, "Return to camp, tell them the Herald is alive, but badly injured. We will follow shortly." He disappeared quickly into the storm carrying the message of hope back to camp. "Can you stand?"
He realized the answer was probably no, but she tried to move anyway. After a sharp wince and strangled cry, she shut her eyes tight and shook her head. Clearly, she was in a lot of pain indicating that there were injuries within that they could not see. When her eyes suddenly rolled back in her head after the attempt the two jumped up on their knees to attention trying to rouse her again. After a scary few minutes, she came to after he pressed on her shoulder wound again.
"He did it again didn't he?" Though barely conscious she tried her best glare on Cassandra, who nodded her head with a wan smile. Turning to him now, "You're lucky I'm low on mana or you'd find yourself rather chilly, Rutherford."
"We better get her back, you'll have to carry her."
"Not with her shoulder still bleeding like that. We need to stop it."
"We don't have bandages."
"No, but Ilara did say we could burn it shut." He and Cassandra looked back to Evelyn who sat there with her mouth open slowly catching on to what they we suggesting.
"Fuck," was all she could say.
Cassandra took her hand, "I'm sorry my friend, but it will keep you alive until we can get to camp." He could see the rising panic in her eyes, but she nodded. She raised her good arm and conjured a flame within her palm.
"Be quick, before my magic wanes." She was looking at him to do it. Taking a deep breath, Cullen took her thin wrist glancing at Cassandra as he crossed it over to her opposite shoulder.
"Look at me," the Seeker's voice was gentle as the two women locked eyes. Their blinks and the subtle changes in their expression spoke volumes. Without any more delay, he pressed the flame to her skin. The flame sparked and sizzled. The smell of burning flesh and the orange glow against the dark overwhelmed his senses as it triggered memories of Kirkwall. Evelyn screamed with whatever strength she had left in her as Cassandra held her as steady as she could. He pulled her hand back believing that if he held it there any longer it would be too much for her. Though the flesh looked raw, the bleeding had stopped, though it would leave a nasty scar. He wondered if she'd associate him with this one too.
The Herald grumbled and cursed as her voice left her and the fight had gone out of her. She was leaning her head against Cassandra's shoulder in a daze. He had gathered through correspondence with Evelyn while traveling that she had become close with the Seeker, and while he thought he should be surprised by their comradery, he wasn't. He knew the Knight-Enchanter to have a fierce protective warmth towards her friends and he suspected the Seeker too, but seeing the two great warriors embracing each other in the wake of events was sobering.
"We should get her back to camp," he whispered softly hating to break up the two of them, but Evelyn was still not out of the woods yet, so to speak. She handed the Herald over to him, the whole time her brown eyes just trained on his face. She winced every so often as he tried to get her in a comfortable position for the hike back. Cassandra led the way, kicking the quickly accumulating snow out of his path and finding good footing for them. The storm was still howling through the pass, so much so that he hardly heard Evelyn when she tried to speak to him.
"Are you hurt?" Her hand went up to the recently closed gash on his head, pushing some of his hair to the side.
"You're asking me that as I'm the one carrying you…" he trailed off with a laugh, but the humor was lost on her. "Just sore."
"What about your back?"
"Healed, thanks to Ilara. She didn't give me much of a choice."
She laughed, though he could tell it hurt. "That certainly sounds like her. Always mothering someone. I'm glad though." Her hand felt limply back down holding tight to the fur on his coat. He tried to pull the blanket back up around her but ended up jostling her more than he would've liked. Thankfully she caught on and grabbed it, snuggling herself up into him. She felt smaller in his arms all tucked up like a child. The top of her hair brushed against his chin getting caught on the stubble. When he felt her head fall back, a pang of dread filled him before looking down to see she was just looking up at him again with a small smile. He wondered at what she was thinking, looking at him like that. Assumingly she was happy to be rescued, but that conclusion fell painfully short. Regardless, he returned it and found himself fighting the urge to kiss her forehead letting her know that she was safe so long as he was here.
Gently raising her higher in his arms so her head rested in the crook of his neck, he laid his head atop hers. Her lips ghosted across the skin of his neck as she exhaled slowly. The cold poke of her nose gave him a chill, but the heat from their closeness warded it away. She was so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath gently caressing his skin. Looking ahead, Cassandra was too distracted trying to follow their original trail down the slope to bother looking back, to which he was thankful to be able to steal such a moment with her. They nuzzled into each other more just before he slipped losing his footing for a moment. He muttered a 'sorry' into her hair knowing it must've hurt, and she tilted her head slightly up to respond. 'Distracted?' he felt rather than heard her say at the base of his jaw. A flood of prurient visions involving the two of them made him breathe deeper. Each syllable drew her split, yet full lips against him causing the heat to rise further in his chest. He only gave a chesty rumble of a laugh in response, too afraid to admit that he was.
In the distance, there was the faint glow of camp casting a hazy halo over the mountain. Hesitantly, he drew back from her knowing Cassandra was sure to check on them now that they were heading out of the wind to the other side of the mountain. Sure enough, the snow-covered Seeker turned waiting for him to catch up as she inspected his charge.
They paused at the crest of the path through the pass to camp to catch their breath, when a shaky voice broke the silence. "Just tell me one thing," Evelyn paused a moment, "how messed up is my hair?" Cullen started down at her dumbstruck. "It's not very heroic when your hair looks like a giant chewed on it before it froze." Cassandra laughed, but he shook her head as her shield of humor was raised once more. "Lighten up, Rutherford. If I'm dying the least you can do is laugh at my jokes," coughing a few times, a warm trickle of blood dripped down the side of her mouth. His grim demeanor deepened at its sight. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine." He knew his face was a cross between a scowl and sincere worry.
"Then stop looking." He just sighed in response and made haste to the tent they had prepared for her. Waiting there was a slew of people ready to examine her. At the sight of them, he felt her cling to him tighter as they directed him into the tent and to the cot. He laid her down gently and took a step back as the healers pushed their way in front of him. Evelyn picked up her head searching for him as he loomed behind the healers to make sure she was alright one last time. She had just opened her mouth to say something when a rather pushy older mage shooed him out, realizing they were undressing her from the amount of armor and clothing dropping on the floor.
Upon exiting, he felt as if half the camp was standing before him, all trying to hear news of the Herald. He straightened at the sudden attention, though it seemed it was more due to him interrupting Cassandra's retelling of the past hour. Not lingering, he headed to the large tent where Owayne was. He shook the man awake to some semblance of consciousness to tell him that Evelyn was back in camp. He immediately jumped up and headed off toward her tent. Too exhausted from the ruck up the mountain for a second time that night, he flopped down on the now-empty cot. Owayne could be the healers' problem. He ran his hand through his hair feeling that the snow in it had melted from his body heat leaving it damp.
Looking up at the stars he found it startling how warm he had been carrying her extra weight up the mountain rather than his first time up. His hand fell over his eyes, it wasn't because of the extra weight you fool. He considered that he needed to decide before he fell in too deep and there was no coming out. Now was the time to either shut his feelings down or let them lead down an unfamiliar road with a mage no less. No, he was trying to be a better man and not define people by forces out of their control, no matter how much the voices from his dark past called to him. He battled himself in his head, trying to determine how far he had possibly fallen already for her. He rattled off every reason why not to pursue her, but no matter what point he fixated on, some part of him came to her defense. Fighting a losing battle, he let his hand fall as sleep took him. Oh Rutherford, what have you done to yourself?
***
Everything hurt, though she was thankful to be thawing out. After waking up from a short nap to the sound of the advisors bickering, she had just laid there listening. Chiming in as if she was there, she finally had enough and was determined to give them a piece of her mind. As the healers worked on her earlier, Leliana had sat with her so she could recount what Corypheus had said to her while they escaped. Even the Spymaster was not expecting a Magister darkspawn from the dawn of time to be the one opposing the Inquisition from the shadows.
Testing her limbs, she groaned and winced with every movement. The loss of function in her left arm, which was hanging in a sling, only added another layer of frustration to the simple task of sitting up. Feeling winded just from that alone, she sat on the side of her cot thinking about how close she had come to death. She felt the weight of her own mortality thinking about how Corypheus was still out there hunting her down. The more she began to dwell on it, the more fear and the frantic impulse to do something about it fueled her.
Rummaging through the pile of clothes on the floor for her shirt, she didn't hear him behind her until he started to apologize for coming unannounced. "Relax, I'm not naked." She stood agonizingly slow, twisting and gesturing with her good arm to the bandages that covered her left shoulder and breasts down to above her navel. "If you're here to start on my armor don't bother till I get a new set." She kicked the heap of sundered metal and bloodied leather. Cullen took a few steps over to stand by her side bending down to inspect it.
"Maker, I've never seen armor this bad and the person wearing it survive." He stood looking over at her with a worried scowl. His words made her swallow hard as she was still processing the past few hours.
"I'll have to thank Harriet. That man deserves a pay raise. Does he ride? Maybe I'll have my father send him a mount."
"Harriet made your armor? Hmm, I'll have to have him make me a new breast and back plate." She looked over to see he was indeed without them but still wore plates over his arms. The once white cotton shirt he wore under his armor now peaked through between his coat and mantle. The weight of the material rested against the rise of his pectorals.
"My shirt isn't here." She sighed placing her hand on her hip. "I bet Ilara took it so I wouldn't leave the tent. Clever girl."
"Why do you want to leave the tent? You should be resting."
"I'm sick of laying here listening to you all argue about what to do next. If that thing is still out there, we need to move." She winced a little at her outburst feeling a constriction in her lungs.
"Most of us, like you, cannot move. We need to give the wounded time to rest and the dying time to… pass. It's that or we must leave them behind." That news struck a deep cord of sorrow within her. "How far would you get before you collapsed again? I will tell you what I told the rest of the council," his anger was flaring up, clearly his patience on the subject had been worn thin, "what we need to do is lay low. No ravens, no grand announcements about our survival, we just rest so we can move and find somewhere suitable to begin again." She didn't disagree, but she wanted to. Patience was not a virtue of hers and the longer she'd be stuck in this Maker forsaken tent, the longer she'd stew on her recent failures rather than right them.
She gave a long growl, "Cullen I can't stay here cooped up in bed waiting for the Elder One to find me! I'll go crazy, I'm going out there." The sudden movement shot pain through her ribs, but she was determined not to let him see it. His arm shot out halting her, and he stared hard at her brazen attempt.
"You can't, not only are you too stubborn to admit you need rest but you're without the proper attire. Andraste preserve me, you're the Herald, you can't just waltz about like that." She followed his eyes down her front. The odd silk bandages - most likely someone's garment they shredded - sat as low as a breast band and only covered down to the end of her ribcage. She had seen gowns at summer balls that exposed more than what she was boasting.
"My modesty is not your concern. Nor is where I go or what I do." The frown on his face deepened with a hint of anger bubbling just under the surface. "Unless…" She stepped closer to him, only leaving an inch or two between them. What he had done while carrying her back up the mountain was not lost on her, delirious or not. She didn't reach out to touch him, instead letting the intimacy of how close she stood to him convey her message. "Unless there's another reason, one you're not saying as to why I can't go out like this." His eyes roved down her once more as he considered her words.
"Perhaps there is," he said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. As his hand fell, it slid down her good arm to her exposed waist. His eyes followed its path but looked back into her heavy gaze, "because you'll freeze." She was stunned for a moment thinking he was actually going to tell her some revelation into his feelings, when in fact he was throwing her own sarcasm back at her. "We're in the middle of the bloody Frostbacks, Trevelyan. I already brought you here frozen once, I won't do so again." She wanted to be mad, but couldn't, finding the humor in it despite everything.
She reached out and grabbed a fist full of his shirt, "I would very much like to hit you, but I'd hurt myself more than I would you." He chuckled, still holding her hip gently with one hand.
"Herald, I hope I'm not… oh, Commander, I didn't mean to interrupt." Mother Giselle walked in. As in Haven, it seems wherever Evelyn was quartered had no need for some form of a door, since everyone ignored it anyway. Quickly releasing her and stepping back, Cullen stuttered a few incoherent excuses as to his presence. "I had your shirt mended, I hope you weren't missing it." She eyed Cullen critically and the heat flushed to his face.
"Thank you, Revered Mother, I was just telling the Commander how unfortunate it would be to cover these exquisite bandages."
She laughed, "I'm glad you like them. I gave up my slip for them to be made." Evelyn's eyes and smile grew wide.
"We all have to make sacrifices. My modesty, your slip…" At that Cullen excused himself, making up an apologetic story about reports waiting for him. When he left the women shared a laugh at the poor man's expense.
"I'm glad to see your spirit has not left you after your ordeal. It seems not even that creature could beat it out of you."
"Literally," she added.
After a long sobering talk with Mother Giselle, clarity and purpose reasserted itself within Evelyn. She confronted the fact that she was again hiding from the painful truth of things: she was incredibly wounded; an ancient Tevinter darkspawn magister was out there not only trying to kill her, but trying to destroy the world; and the Inquisition had been almost wiped off the face of Thedas. Many things hung in the balance and it was time to step up as the Herald and do something about it.
She stormed out of the tent leaving Mother Giselle abruptly - with her blood-stained mended shirt on. The chill of the air tried to distract her as she marched with a gait onwards towards the raised voices of the four unsuspecting victims of her tirade. Her face was set in a heated snarl and the glow of her recovering mana pulsed up her veins. She stopped a few feet from their huddle waiting for them to acknowledge her presence. When they one by one turned slowly, looking at her with surprised looks she wasted no time.
"I, and most likely a good portion of camp, have heard enough out of you four! For fuck's sake do you even know what you sound like? Someone needs to take charge here, so who is it going to be?" They all looked back and forth at each other. "What, no one?" She just shook her head, "There are hundreds of people here who are relying on you four to deliver them from this mess, and yet you carry on like squabbling children. There is an ancient Tevinter magister trying to become a god and the Inquisition is the only one who can do something about it. I understand we've all been through a lot, but you are the best and brightest Thedas has to offer. Divine Justinia would not have appointed you if it wasn't true!" She paused to catch her breath, coughing and wincing before going on.
"The four of you on your own are incredibly formidable, and when you work together you're unstoppable. Corypheus may have come to Haven to kill me, but it couldn't have gone unnoticed the growing power and influence of the Inquisition. You've taken in men and women who want to help regardless of skill, race or creed and made them work together. All of you have changed lives and given its members purpose - including myself."
Her tone softened, "I was given a second chance surviving the Conclave, which up until now I thought was just sealing rifts and the Breach. Then Corypheus shows up and everything we've worked for goes to the Void. We're all scared, and it's all right, but we are all looking to you - the four of you - to hold us together. If you want to be mad, then be mad at me. I'm the reason we're in this situation, just don't take it out on each other."
There was a contemplative silence as each of them looked guilty for the recent behavior. Apologies were exchanged through looks, though not words and they turned back to the map seemingly forgetting her presence or angry at her for lecturing them, she cared only for the result. As it should be, she thought. Watching them work with each other rather than against, she didn't notice Solas standing beside her. Asking for a private word, he led her off to the outskirts of camp. He told her that the orb Corypheus used against her was elven and that he believed there to be a long-forgotten place nearby that the Inquisition could call home.
"Why tell me and not them?"
"Because you seem to be the only person able to steer them in any direction currently. I'll entrust the information to you so you can disseminate it at the right time." She thought about his phrasing as she walked back to the large central campfire. Her lecturing and short excursion out of her tent had left her tired. The cold had crept into her bones again, which made her hate that Cullen had been right earlier. She basked in the fire's companionship as she knew the flame intimately, occasionally wave her hand at it making it dance. For a long time, she lost herself in the visions it held for her of the past, present and future. The past was turbulent and static, the present uncertain and the future was full of infinite possibilities.
Oddly, a voice from behind was raised in song. The deep resonance of Mother Giselle was enough to turn her head in curiosity, but she was even more shocked to find that a large gathering had amassed behind her without her noticing. They had just been there watching her for who knows how long. The crowd joined in song as she led them through "The Dawn Will Come." Frozen in place she watched incredulously as one by one they took a knee in front of her. She shook her head weakly in protest, undeserving of their reverence. Her face heated, not from the fire but from the attention, especially when she spotted her companions and advisors standing off to the side. When they finished, she placed a hand to her heart, unsure if it was the right response and the crowd, in higher spirits, dispersed. None approached her save for Mother Giselle.
"The people need hope and a cause. You've given them that and more, though I don't think you've realized it yet." She quirked an eyebrow up at the Revered Mother as she continued past her, and once again she was left alone with the flame to consider her words.
***
After a terrible, restless night of jumping at every sound that accosted her ears, she finally decided to give up and get up. The army of healers in and out of her tent to check on her did not help either, each telling her to rest when it was they who prevented her from doing just that. It was late in the morning and the sun's bright light reflecting off of the snow was blinding even through the gaps in the tent's canvas. At the foot of her bed, for lack of furnishings, was a small bag of herbs and a cup, no doubt left for her by Ilara. Wrapping a blanket around herself and grabbing the herbs, she stumbled out into the light. She was glad to see most of her companions sitting around resting and recovering by the fire. She sat pouring some hot water into her cup adding the herbs to it letting it steep.
Owayne studied her from nearby. "I don't suppose a bit of bruising improves your looks." She just glared at him from the corner of her eyes unamused in her state of grogginess.
"Hey Owayne, how's that love poetry going for--" He shushed her, clearly embarrassed. For some reason that she didn't want to dwell on, her brother began asking her about Cassandra and the things she likes. Naturally, she picked one she knew he'd make a fool of himself with - poetry. After the herbs steeped for a few minutes, she took a sip, but immediately sputtered it out.
"You deserve that."
With a huff, and ignoring her brother, she called over to Ilara, "Dammit Lar, was this another poultice?" The healer nodded to her rolling her eyes. "Why can't I ever tell these things apart?"
"Ah, I do it all the time, just ask Stitches."
"You know Bull, I do feel a bit better knowing a Ben-Hassrath also mixes them up." He held his cup up in cheers and she followed suit, taking a large gulp completely forgetting it was still the poultice water. She groaned and growled pouring it out on the ground while the others laughed.
"You all right there, Blaze? You seem out of it."
"She is and should be resting!" Ilara yelled as she walked away with a nod to the Seeker who had just joined them. She walked over to sit beside Evelyn, resting a hand on her shoulder.
"You look exhausted, perhaps you should rest."
"I'll rest when that thing and his pet dragon is dead and every rift is sealed." Cassandra looked at her with what seemed like pity.
"And people say I'm stubborn."
"You, Seeker? I don't believe it," the dwarf chimed in.
"No one asked you, Varric." She held him in one of her glares, before turning back to the Herald. "The council has decided that we can only afford to remain here for another day. Tomorrow we'll head… somewhere. We're meeting soon to discuss our options, you should join us." Evelyn paused a moment suddenly remembering her brief conversation with Solas.
"There may not be much of a discussion since I know where we should go."
Some hours later, scouts returned with news that Skyhold was indeed intact and unoccupied. The elf had been right. Preparations to move the whole of the Inquisition north began immediately. Varric and Josephine worked to secure supplies and Brontos from a nearby Taig. With the promise of a new home, the people's hope was renewed in the Inquisition's leadership. There was a new energy catching like wildfire, and even Evelyn was swept up in it. That evening after throwing off her sling, Mother Giselle organized several Chantry services around the camp to bless their journey in the morning.
She joined one of the services but stayed towards the back. Her presence had been drawing even more attention than usual and she wasn't about to distract a Chantry service. All day she had a steady stream of visitors, all complete strangers, as she sat outside her tent. Most came with questions, some talked about the ones they lost at the Conclave and Haven, others just wanted to be able to say they had met the famed 'Herald of Andraste.' There were even a few well-wishers hoping she would recover swiftly. No doubt word circulated that she was meeting with everyone and anyone who came by, having talked to at least a hundred people. While it was tiring, it was also enlightening as she asked many about themselves in return.
By the time the services had begun, she felt as though there was much to be thankful for and even more to pray for. Many had expressed their concerns over the Elder One, but she assured them that she still had faith in the Inquisition. That they would come back stronger in the face of adversity and honor those who had sacrificed their lives. After hours of continuous conversation, the quiet of the service was soothing. She stood leaning against a tent post and closed her eyes listening and taking in the silence. When it was time to pray, she knelt and recited the prayer aloud.
O Maker, we come before you now,
To ask your blessings on this journey.
Guide our steps and keep us safe,
As we travel to our destination.
Grant us strength and courage to endure,
The challenges that lie ahead.
May your peace and love surround us,
And protect us from all harm.
Bless us with opportunities to experience,
The beauty and goodness of your creation.
May we always remember that we are never alone,
For you are with us always, no matter where we go.
The crunch of boots came up beside her, but whoever it was didn't disturb her, and took a knee. Even as service resumed, she stayed a minute longer to add her own silent prayer.
When she finally opened her eyes, she was met by an amber set. She took his hand when it was offered to stand, and amazingly enough, she was able to keep her mouth shut through the rest of the service. When it was over, she just gave him a wan smile and spun away. She was in a weird mood after listening to everyone today. Some truly believed she was marked by Andraste and that only she could stand against the Elder One. Corypheus had told her enough for her to believe she wasn't marked by Andraste, even if a small part of her wished it if only to get through the storm that lay ahead in one piece. Or to know that if and when she died for the cause Andraste would take her to her side.
"A Trevelyan with nothing to say, a rare thing indeed."
She only turned her shoulders back, still walking away, "If it's wit and sarcasm you want, go look for my brother. I'm all out for tonight."
"Is something the matter?" It didn't take much for him to catch up with her, as she couldn't walk too fast in her state.
She stopped though not quite knowing how to answer. "To be honest, I'm not sure." They were in one of the quieter sections of camp headed back towards her tent, so they hooked arms and she had him lead her back to it. Along the way she told him of her day and what the people were saying to her. Back in her tent, they sat on her cot as he tried to explain, through their perspective of her fight with Corypheus why they probably put so much faith in her. Like the Conclave, no one had expected her to survive the encounter.
"Did you think I was dead?"
"No," he said with a bit of a huff, "I know better than that." She was touched by his faith in her, especially when he knew the full extent of what Corypheus had said to her.
"I don't feel like much of a hero." She tried to swallow back tears as they began to form. "All those people died because he wanted me dead. Now that thing is out there is planning his next atrocity to get to me. I'm terrified. Who will I lose next time?" Her voice squeaked out her confession and she looked forward knowing if she looked at him she wouldn't be able to bear it. She tapped her foot and chewed her lip trying to distract her from the fear, but it wasn't working. "My brother? My friends? You?" When his finger directed her chin to face him, she shut her eyes. He softly asked for her to look at him, but shook her head no.
He asked again, but this time his thumb traced along her lower lip, parting it from the top. She opened her eyes to find him a few inches away. "I will not let him harm you."
She gave him a sweet pitiful smile as her tears fell, running a hand down his cheek, "That's sweet, but I think it's more complicated than that." Her eyes followed the hand that came to rest on his thigh, before flicking back up to meet his, "But tonight," she leaned closer, "I'll believe it." There was no mistaking her intention. His hand brushed back along her jaw to her neck as his fingers tangled in her hair and pulled her closer. Their lips barely touched as they both hesitated, stealing each other's breath. He had closed his eyes, but could tell from the way his brow tensed and relaxed that he was unsure. She didn't want to make the decision for him and just moved her hand up from his thigh to his chest feeling his heart race. Then his nose slid gently past hers and she waited to feel the full touch of his mouth on hers.
"Evie, Cassandra does not…" She gasped and they both straightened to look at Owayne stepping through the tent flap. Thankfully, her brother was too busy shaking his head at the ground to notice the lapse in their composure. She quickly wiped the wet streaks from her face and tried to perk up. When he did finally look up to see the two of them, instead of apologizing or anything of the sort, he just continued on about his problem. "Oh good, Cullen's here too to call you on your bullshit." Still dazed from their almost-kiss, he blinked a few times, giving him a half-hearted 'what.' "Does Cassandra like poetry?" Evelyn slapped a hand to her forehead and shook her head.
"She does, don't tell me you made something up and tried to impress her with it."
"No, I had Varric make it up, and she hated it!"
She sighed heavily casting a side glance to Cullen, who looked like he was ready to bolt out of the tent. "Owayne, when I told you, you needed something like "Carmenum di Amatus," I meant it literally. She's into the banned stuff. And the poor Commander doesn't need to hear how you plan on wooing Cass… or that I'm helping you." She placed a hand on Cullen's shoulder, "Thanks for walking me back, I'll, um, talk to you later." She thought it best she gives them both an out of the awkward situation.
"Right, uh," he stood rubbing the back of his neck, "Goodnight, t-to you both." He looked back sheepishly at her before stepping out into the night.
She looked back to her brother unamused, "You know Owayne, you really are an arse at times."
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
Munklington
Munklington This is by far one of my favorite chapters! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it!
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
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