Chương 55: Chapter 55: Blurred Lines Pt.1
The familiar sounds of a bustling camp made it through his dreamless sleep. The clanks of armor were like soothing chimes and the barking of orders was like reverent chanting. The first orange rays of light were peeking through his tent flaps as he ran a hand through his thick straw-colored hair. Turning over, he couldn't help but take in a deep inhale letting the crisp air of the Frostback Mountains - that he had once called home - fill his lungs. Swinging his legs over the side of his cot, Cullen stretched feeling no aches or pain. Even though it had been months without the crippling effects of lyrium withdrawal, it was a bone-aching pain one never forgot.
"Ser, you're wanted in the Command Tent," called a voice of a Knight from outside.
"I'll be there presently," his voice came out deeper with a hard rasp. Cullen's brow knitted finding it odd, but ignored the peculiar feeling.
Quickly making himself presentable, he walked to the large tent at the center of their camp, watching his soldiers with a scrutinous eye. They straightened and saluted stiffly as he passed, unwilling to risk his ire. Cullen ran a tight ship, and he held his Knights to the same standards as himself.
Waiting for him in front of the tent, he greeted the Elder One. Taking a knee and clasping his hand to his heart, he spoke with fervent devotion, "To what do we owe the honor, master?"
The blighted towering figure crossed his spindly arms, "The hour of our victory is in hand. I wanted to make sure all was ready."
The General's jaw flexed at his lack of faith. Had he not proven himself after Samson's disastrous operation in the Emprise du Lion? Had he not forsaken the Maker and His Bride for his new living God? Everything he had ever believed had been turned on its head, and his faith shattered in order to accept his new role. He was to be the Elder One's sword, cutting him a path to the Black City. When his Godhood was achieved, Cullen would be granted a place in the new world – or what would be left of it.
By all accounts, he should be terrified, but everything and everyone he ever cared for had failed him; he had nothing worth living for, or so he thought until the song sang sweetly to him. Taking lyrium again had not been easy, but neither was Evelyn's betrayal. It was a hundred times worse. Yet, a silver lining came in the fact that eventually, his mind would forget it all, and so he took it hoping that his memories would fade until he no longer cared about anything. Not even that the world would end.
"Is the army prepared to make the final assault on the heretics?"
The General sneered with confidence, "They are. The ancient walls are weak and the enemy are trapped like rats within it. It will be a simple matter for the Knights to cut them all down."
When Cullen had been appointed General of Corypheus' army, the Red Templars were a rabble, the only discipline to be found in their old habits put there by The Order. From their appearance to the impulses caused by the red lyrium, he took it upon himself to see to it that the Knights found pride in their new Order. In no time, Cullen had instilled strict regulations for his officers similar to that of what they had once been familiar with. Those who were uncontrollable were given over to the Tranquil, led by Maddox, to turn them into more suitable units like Shadows, Horrors, or Behemoths. The rest could serve out their limited days with purpose under his leadership. The heavy cumbersome crystals that invaded the bodies of some of the Knights were trimmed, most growing to become cumbersome in battle. It also didn't help their "new" image to have the Templars scaring the populace with their marred bodies. Cullen himself kept the fissure on his back in check, having the surgeon file it down weekly.
"Calpurnia," the Elder One's deep booming voice called for his prized 'Vessel.' Cullen didn't have to see the mage approach to know she was close by. Her mana had been soured by some ancient elven magic that had been stored in the Well of Sorrow. Having beaten the Inquisition to it – thanks to his effort to hold them in the jungle of the Arbor Wilds – the Inquisition's slow demise was at hand. He had fought her there; Evelyn. He had ordered his men to leave her for him. Only he would snuff that flame. Yet she escaped, licking her wounds back to the ancient elven fortress. Now, camped before Skyhold, their last stand, the army of the Elder One was poised to crush them before turning to Orlais and Ferelden.
Peering down at the woman cooly, their master continued, "I believe the General has the battle well under his control. But I didn't summon you here to boast. Tell him of our plan to secure the anchor. We cannot allow the fools to destroy it." Turning to Cullen now, his claw-like hand firmly grasped his shoulder, "I have faith in you that you will not fail me."
"I would rather die than stand before you in shameful defeat, master. Victory will be yours." The conviction in his voice was firm and confident. A pleased smile pulled on the God's taut lips. If he grinned any wider, what little skin he had left on his face would tear. Turning and gliding away, Corypheus was swallowed by his devout priests, leaving the General alone with the Tevinter mage.
"Cullen," her arrogant voice cut through him like a jagged edge, making him grip the pommel of his sword tighter, "before you assault the Keep, our master has a special task for you." Since she was named the Vessel, she had treated him as a subordinate. He was no stranger to this sort of treatment, but now in a great position of power – including the return of his Templar abilities to wield over the mage – he detested the way she flaunted her seniority in the pecking order.
Inviting her into the privacy of the Command Tent, he asked, "And what is this task? Assuming it has to do with the retrieval of the anchor as mentioned."
"Yes, very good." He bit his tongue at the chiding remark. "You are to lure the Inquisitor out from behind her walls and cut it from her." She smirked, the gap in her front teeth begging to be punched, for she knew all too well his feelings about Evelyn.
There was a piece of him that felt a profound sense of loss amidst the empty numbness of the red lyrium coursing through his veins. He had loved her once – his Eve – but that was before she abandoned him after she promised not to; at least that's what they told him. Cullen's memory right before the time he joined Corypheus was gone. Considering that she made no effort to recover him made him believe the word of his new allies. The red lyrium filled in the cracks of his very being protecting him from all that sought to cripple him. From Kinloch to withdrawal symptoms to his broken heart, all was repaired and forgotten, nearly. Even now at the mention of the Inquisitor, it moved to protect him from stirring up his old feeling for The Phoenix.
"If you think Trevelyan is stupid enough not to suspect a trap, then you are woefully mistaken. Her experience as a Knight-Enchanter makes her incredibly perceptive, and let's not forget how dangerous she is." He side-eyed the short skinny mage, "She may have been a Circle mage, but I'd bet on her against the fiercest Tevinter caster any day." Calpurnia stiffened, knowing the kind of experience and sound judgment he possessed on magic. Cullen enjoyed making her squirm, for her ego since becoming 'The Chosen One' had become insufferable. "I doubt even you pose a threat to her."
"Well, then aren't we lucky to have you, General? Someone who knows her intimately. " He ignored her teasing, remaining stoic and composed. "The master cares not how you do it, just that it is done. Surely, you can manage a ruse to get her alone?"
"Why not simply do it once the battle is won?"
"You heard the Elder One, those fools would deprive us of it at all costs. Trevelyan herself could have the inferno of her mana destroy it before her capture. No, you must sever the marked hand from her. Only then can the anchor be used by our master to get us to the Black City."
"Very well." She stood there looking at him expectantly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have important matters to attend to."
"Don't you want help? We wouldn't want you to slip up like Samson did. I keep telling Corypheus his trust in Templars is misplaced--"
Cullen's hand found her throat before even he could register he had done it. A sharp staggering wave of his power swept into her, taking her breath away, "Remember, mage, that you have no power over us. Our master's good word is the only thing keeping my soldiers from eradicating every last one of you blighted abominations." Fear glistened in her eyes knowing she was no longer in Tevinter – this was the south where Templars reigned. Ferelden had welcomed them back, the populace uncaring that they were taking a more aggressive form of lyrium. So long as the rebel mages had been eliminated, they cared not about what else the Templars did.
"I'm surprised your precious Inquisitor failed to see the depth of your hatred of our kind." She laughed wickedly, "Or was it that the former Circle mage was used to the abuse of Templars she hardly noticed your disdain."
Shoving her away toward the tent's flaps, he glowered down at her, "Know this, not even your elven voices have the power to protect you from being Silenced into submission. I suggest you remember that the next time you disrespect me. Now, get out."
With a lethal glare, the thin sandy blonde left him with a huff. He would probably regret that later, Calpurnia being the Elder One's pet, but he would not suffer her impertinence having been so favored by their master as well. With a deep breath, he skimmed over the building plans of Skyhold that he personally drew up. Knowing all the weak points of the Keep, it was no challenge for him to bring their walls down ironically beginning with the tower he had once resided in. He almost wished it was as simple as that, but now he had the added task of recovering the anchor.
No one here knew Evelyn as well as he did, so he was alone in his scheming. Having tried so hard to block her from his thoughts, here he was now needing to remember everything just to fool her into getting close enough to remove her hand.
An unexpectant wave of nausea washed over him violently as his sight blacked out for a moment. In that short time, he heard a distinct woman's voice crying out for him. "Evelyn?" In the distance, he saw the warm glow of what looked to be a flame in the distance, still calling out to him. Before he could reply, the world came crashing back to him. Blinking everything back into focus, he quickly took out a vial of red lyrium and downed it – he must've forgotten to take it recently. Yet, even after feeling it trickle down his throat, he didn't feel the rejuvenating effects. Odd.
With little time to waste before he would have to move his timeline for the battle back, he needed a plan and quickly. Evelyn Trevelyan was many things, but being easily fooled was not one of them. She was the most powerful mage he had ever met and a Knight-Enchanter at that. Fire was at her fingertips, and one wrong move on his part would see him dead in an instant. The Phoenix was also duty-driven, and it would take the best bard in Orlais to concoct a performance good enough to trick her.
The more he thought about her strengths, the more he felt his heart pumping hot blood through him, warding away the numbness. She loved when he called her 'Trevelyan' and teased her about her eating habits, hair, or snoring. She was competitive, always making bets or challenging him. Evelyn turned to mush whenever he thumbed the scar on her chin and combed his fingers back through her hair. A flood of tender memories began drowning him unexpectedly.
When his vision went black again, he cursed under his breath, once again hearing haunting cries through the void. This time a pang of panic stabbed him in the gut, and he heard himself yell back involuntarily, "I'm here! Find me, please! "
Again, he was back in the Command Tent panting for no reason. "Maker's breath--" he caught himself. No, that was blasphemy, why would I say that? What's going on?! He needed to focus, but it seemed thinking about his target was dredging up repressed feelings. But why the extreme reaction? And why wasn't the lyrium acting to protect him as it should?
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he decided it would be best to keep it simple. Get her alone, Silence her, and remove the anchor. Cullen was not one for elaborate plans, but effective ones. He could do this, for she would listen to him. She'd want to speak with him at any cost to her own safety. For all her strength, she had always had one glaring weakness: himself.
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