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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Cullen was not the panicking sort. He would never have survived all this time as one of the Inquisitor’s advisors if he had been. The mesh of personalities he dealt with on a day-to-day basis was unique, to say the least. In truth, despite their past personal...history, the Inquisitor was usually the easiest for him to deal with except for one thing: Saphielle tended to disappear, often right at the worst time. 

He did understand. She was surrounded by people, day in and day out, and craved time alone. Skyhold was meant to be a retreat from her travels but it seldom allowed that. She was, by her own admission, a loner at heart. As such, it wasn’t at all unusual for Saphielle to remove herself from the general ebb and flow of each day, and hike down below Skyhold to avoid the constant interruptions. But he’d checked there, and all her other favorite places without finding her. No one, it seemed, had seen her that morning save for Rylen.

There was one last place to check; the garden. This early in the morning, only a handful of people drifted within its walls; generally, the garden was busier in the late afternoons. The person he sought was there already, however. Mother Giselle would know. She turned as he approached, wearing a puzzled look.

“Commander, a word please?”

He nodded his head once. “Mother Giselle, I’d like a word with you also. Have you seen the Inquisitor?”

She frowned, and nodded. “I am concerned, Commander. She appeared to be very distraught. She did not want my help, however...” She smiled briefly. Ever since she and Saphielle had argued over Dorian, the two’s relationship had been a bit...uneven. 

If Saphielle had not confided in Mother Giselle now, he would not share the reasons behind his concerns for her whereabouts. “Thank you for your concern, Mother Giselle. Where did she go?”

“To the locked room.”

Frowning, Cullen glanced across the garden to the door Mother Giselle spoke of. She had not liked it when the eluvian was moved in; in truth, it disturbed him as well. It was another sort of magic he was uncomfortable with, though he trusted Morrigan’s assurances it was a benign magic.

Still, it had surprised him when Saphielle and Morrigan had become friends, discussing elven lore that Saphielle did not know, despite her knowledge of Dalish history that came as being her clan’s future Keeper. 

He supposed that was what had intrigued Saphielle about Solas as well, his incredible knowledge of elven lore. He sighed inwardly at that--his own knowledge of history was standard at best. Perhaps he had bored Saphielle. A depressing thought. He excused himself from Mother Giselle, heading for the door where they kept the eluvian locked away.

The door was cracked open.

Cullen hesitated, gloved hand on the handle. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. As he slowly pushed open the door, his other hand drifted to his sword. 

He tensed, breath held. Something was wrong. He knew this as sure as he knew his middle name.

“Inquisitor?” he said softly, stepping into the room. The only light came from the windows on either side of the eluvian, and the mirror itself. His eyes widened; Saphielle stood in front of it, hands clasped in front of her, her staff on the floor at her side. She wore a thick white cloak he’d never seen before. 

He sucked in his breath at the sight of her in the mirror’s reflection. She was lovely in her sadness, almost ethereal in her timeless delicacy. And no longer yours. 

When she didn’t move or respond, he said more softly this time, “Saphi?” He’d not called her that since the day she broke it off with him. She didn’t acknowledge it now, either. She did not acknowledge him, instead just bent down and picked up her staff, her free hand reaching for the eluvian’s liquid surface.

A different sort of terror than he’d ever known froze him; whatever he’d been about to say evaporated, the step he was about to take halted. 

Only then, when it was clear he would not intervene did she speak. 

“They lead to other worlds. Did you know that?” She touched the mirror’s surface. “Morrigan showed me the first time. Showed me the Crossroads, where my people’s ancestors would meet on their travels before going on to their destinations. So many worlds, so many lost to us,” she said, her voice ending on a whisper. “He visited so many of them. Promised he would take me to all the ones we could still reach. He only took me to one.” She dropped her hand, then turned halfway to glance at him. “Why did he take me there?”

Cullen’s throat was dry, his hands not. His fingers itched to draw his sword but against what? Her pain? Her heartbreak? Against the bastard that had disappeared on them all?

“Saphielle,” he said, taking a step forward but when she flinched, he stopped. “He’s gone. Leliana’s looked everywhere--”

“Has she?” She looked up at the eluvian again. “I think not.” She sighed, her head dropping. Perhaps closed her eyes. 

He ached to step toward her again, the trickle of worry over why she was there, why she was looking at the eluvian, why she was touching it, growing exponentially every second they stood there in that room. 

“Why are you here?” he finally asked though he knew, he knew. 

“I have to find him, Cullen. I love him. But he frightens me too--what he is capable of. He showed me things… I have to know.” She held up her marked hand; the green made the entire room glow. 

“Saphi,” he said, stuttering forward now. “It’s over. There’s no reason--”

“But there is.” She looked up at him now, her face tear-streaked. “It’s not what you think, Commander. Cullen. I--” 

She waved where she stood; she was pale, her exhaustion clear. So strange, the lack of vallaslin now. When he’d first met her, the intensity of it had startled him; now, the lack of it did as well. What kind of power did Solas have, that he could remove an elgar’nan vallaslin with nary a trace of its existence? 

“Saphi. Please, come back with me to your rooms.” She looked sharply at him, a hint of disbelief in her eyes. His face heated. “I mean to rest. You’re exhausted. You need to eat…” 

She smiled briefly. “I used to tell you that, remember?”

There. Grab hold of that. “Yes, and you were right.”

“So you are now?” She shook her head. “No, Cullen. I am sorry. This…” She held up her hand, the green glow almost painful to his eyes. He’d actually rarely seen her hold it up like this. “This is the answer. I know it.”

“What is?” She was making no sense.

She clenched her fist; the room darkened. “Corypheus wants this. He’s been very blatant about that as you know. Solas claims...claimed...he didn’t know what it was. He lied.”

Lied? “He knows what it is?”

The corner of her mouth lifted and she nodded, then turned away from him, her voice hushed. “There’s a language amongst lovers that he didn’t think I knew.” Her words stung.  She went on, not noticing his wince. “But I heard him. I heard what he said, and what he didn’t. He is not who…not who he made himself appear to us to be. I don't think he meant for me to understand, and I don't, not yet, but I know what I need to do. I know where I need to go. I know who may be able to tell me.” She touched the eluvian again, pushing her fingers through. 

“Saphielle. Inquisitor. What are you doing?”

She sighed, looking over her shoulder. “This shouldn’t take long.” And then she pushed through.

Cullen stared at the eluvian, at its shimmering surface that was, at the edges, beginning to still. 

Usually, Cullen wasn’t one to throw himself into the unknown. He preferred planning, making lists, documenting possible scenarios and giving plans due consideration...but there was no time for that. 

As he watched in disbelief, the eluvian’s surface began to even out. He knew there was no choice--without the Inquisitor, they were doomed. There was no time to tell anyone what was happening, no chance to plan… Before he could let common sense win over his fear Cullen plunged into the eluvian, stumbling out of it into what seemed to be a giant room. There were hundreds, if not thousands of the damned mirrors. 

“Saphi?” he called out, his chest heaving not with exertion but with genuine fear for her.

He didn’t see her anywhere. Turning around in a circle, he stared at all the broken eluvians; out of the corner of his eye he saw movement, a flash of green. “Saphielle!” He took a few steps, whirling back around to stare at the eluvian he’d come through. He pulled off his gloves and threw them in front of the eluvian, for surely he would lose his way back if he did not. 

That turned out to be the last intelligent thing he did for quite a while.

Hurling himself toward where he’d seen the flash of green, he stumbled into a circle of eluvians just as she disappeared into the only one not broken. Without a second thought he ran, ran as fast as he could over the stone ground, watching in horror as the shimmering surface began to smooth once more…

And threw himself full-tilt into it, expecting to be too late, too fucking late, but the eluvian pulled itself around him as he passed through. It was liquid, it was air, it touched all of his skin like a cool caress. He was certain he would die.

Everything happened too fast: the impact on the ground, his shoulder and hip slamming hard against rock after he tumbled out of the eluvian. Nothing stopped him. Instinct kicked in as he pulled into a fetal position, but instead of hitting up against something as he expected, he just rolled faster, his body hurling downhill, flashes of blue sky and sunlight flashing through snow-laden tree limbs, bitter cold biting his bare skin until finally, finally, he crashed into a bush full of red berries and came to a hard stop.

A shower of berries fell on his face.

Groaning, Cullen raised his head and stared at the unfamiliar surroundings. He fell back onto the ground, fighting for breath, already his mind panicking; where did she go? Did she fall too? Where had the eluvian taken him? His breath was ragged. He ached all over, and his mind stuttered as he stared at the strange berries, the unfathomably huge snow-laden trees surrounding him, the deepening cold.

He wasn’t in Thedas anymore.

Cullen scrambled to his feet, wincing as his knee almost gave way. Hissing, he grabbed the bush, which made dozens of the berries fall into the snow around his feet. The air around him grew still, with only the sound of his harsh breathing, the soft breeze through the trees overhead, and the occasional sound of birds, breaking the silence. 

Skyhold had been cold--Skyhold was always cold, but this was a bone-deep chill, the kind that could kill. And what did he have? Only his usual clothing, regular boots, and no gloves. 

One hand shot to his side; he drew in his breath in relief. His sword had survived the fall. 

“Saphielle!” he called out, hoping against hope she would respond. Only the distant howl of a wolf--he hoped it was just a wolf--answered him. He rubbed his hands together, already desperate for warmth. Cold seeped even into his boots, chilling his feet. The sun of this world (how can this be real?) shone high overhead but it was still so cold.

He had to find Saphielle. 

She’d been very well-dressed for this kind of climate, he realized with a start. Not just the heavy cloak, but thick gloves as well. She’d known where she was going, that was clear. He, however, was not at all prepared for this and, worst of all, he had no idea where he was in terms of the eluvian he’d emerged from. He stared up the steep hill he’d tumbled down; a cluster of rocks loomed overhead. With no other choice, he headed back up the hill, wincing as his knee twinged in protest. 

Halfway up he was scrambling, fingers near frozen from the cold. The higher he got the more bitterly the wind blew but up ahead he could see what appeared to be a narrow opening among the rocks. Had he come from there? It was a wonder he hadn’t broken anything. How Saphielle had disappeared so quickly--he’d been mere seconds behind her--he couldn’t fathom. 

He reached a fairly level ridge and stood up to stretch his aching back and knee, and take a look around. That’s when he spied it; a cobbled road winding along a glimmering stream. He took a deep breath and continued to climb when he suddenly slipped, his hands scrabbling uselessly as his feet flew out from under him.

Once more he tumbled down the hill, stopped this time by the thick trunk of a tree. He hit it with a resounding whomp, a snarl escaping him as he fell back into the snow. This time, when he arose, he blinked in confusion; he’d somehow got turned around, and he couldn’t tell which hill he’d come down.

Maker’s breath. Cullen was, he realized, totally and truly lost.

With a groan, Cullen pulled himself away from the tree and considered his options. He could try again to get to the cave--if he could find the cave--and go back home. Get a proper search party together to go after the Inquisitor. A sensible search party that didn’t include himself.

There was a problem with that idea. He had no idea which direction the cave was now. He had no idea which direction Saphielle had gone either. It was cold, and getting colder. Even in the short time he’d been here, it had grown darker, the massive trees adding their shadows to the growing gloom. He needed to find shelter, someplace warm and dry and safe and accessible. The road he’d seen, and the stream beside it, beckoned to him. Perhaps he should walk along there. Surely he would come across a village eventually.

A deep, rumbling scream filled the air high above him. Snow and dead leaves fell down from trembling trees. Cullen stared in disbelief and wonder as a great beast flew overhead, wings flapping as it called out its angry challenge. 

Dragons. Of course they had dragons here.

He heard it then, not just the dragon’s screams, but human ones as well. “Saphi!” Panic made him forget all his pain and aches and even the cold. Drawing his sword he ran, slipping and sliding in the snow, toward the road, the loci of the shouting. High overhead the dragon trumpeted; he wasn’t far from it now, and he could see arrows flying up to pierce its wings. 

The dragon bellowed, pulling itself up, wings creating unfathomable wind as it held itself in place overhead, the sky bright blue behind it. Cullen burst out from beneath the safety of the trees, not taking his eyes from the dragon. He’d seen larger; but who cared about the size when it was a dragon? 

And below it, right in the dragon’s line of sight, stood a woman, alone, defenseless, her sword hanging at her side even as she met the dragon’s attention without fear.  

This wasn’t a woman cowering before certain death; if anything, she was challenging it. 

What in Maker’s name was she thinking? She was doing nothing to defend herself. The men around her weren’t either-- Cullen pulled up as one turned to face him and shouted something at him that vaguely sounded like get back!

It was a cat. A giant striped cat--in robes, and a bow in one hand. Cullen almost dropped his sword. 

The dragon bellowed again, jerking his attention away from the woman and giant cat. Fire shot from the dragon’s mouth as it back-winged higher, its attention turning to two hooded men--these looked like normal men from what he could see--and blasting them. They both dove into snow banks just in time, though one man howled, no doubt struck. The dragon lowered itself, still backwinging in place, its massive head slowly turning back to the woman. She still had not moved. 

Cullen had never wanted to be a hero. He was never meant to be a hero, merely support them. But at that moment, when he saw the woman standing there as if in acceptance of her fate, hands half-raised and sword drawn but not brandished, he knew that was about to change. She was going to die if he didn’t do something. 

He had to save her.

So, he did. Sword raised, whispering for there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker’s Light. And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost . Cullen charged the dragon.

He ignored the shouts, the frantic hand wavings of the men--and that catman--who shook his head at him. All he could see before him was the woman--she was an elf, a very tall elf--with the dragon overhead, almost close enough to touch now, ready to burn her to a crisp.

With a yell of fury Cullen leapt between the dragon and its quarry. He would not let her die. 

The woman half-turned, eyes wide beneath warrior’s paint as she stared at him in shock, a warrior’s yell on her lips. “FUS RO--”

The air around him compressed as a powerful surge unlike anything he’d ever imagined burst from her, stealing away his breath, silencing the world. His sword slipped from his numb fingers. Sound returned in a rush. It came from nowhere and everywhere at once, hitting him with such force he found himself flying backwards, his body turning end over end. As he hit the snow-covered ground, his last thought was not for himself--he was always ready to die, and would do so willingly--but for his beloved Thedas, his home. He’d lost everything...

When he awoke, Cullen discovered several things at once; the dragon was dead, its body not ten feet away; he was tied up, both hands and feet; his sword was gone; and the woman he had been trying to save now sat beside him, watching him with narrowed eyes as he tried to make sense of all these things.

If glares could kill, he--not just the dragon--would be dead.

Chapter Text

“You stupid, stupid Nord.”

Cullen flinched, but not from the anger in her voice. He could understand her. Yes, her accent was...different. Much like an Antivan’s accent mangled with an Orlesian’s, but understandable. He only had two seconds to be grateful for that when she threw another shock at him.

“Have you any idea what could have happened? I could have killed you with that shout.” She threw her hands up, shaking her head in disbelief. “You are a fool, sir. What were you thinking? Were you even thinking? At all?” When he said nothing, she huffed in disgust. “Nords.” She stood, glaring down at him. “What am I to do with you?”

“Untie me?”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Do you actually even know how to use that sword?”

Bewildered, he nodded. He couldn’t move much else than that. “Of course. Please. Listen to me ,” he said, his frustration making her eyebrow raise. He let his head fall back. This was not going well. “There was a woman ahead of me when I came out of the… Never mind that. I must find her. Did you see anyone else...well, out of the ordinary?”

“You were the only fool throwing yourself in front of a dragon. Tell me of her. What does this mythical woman look like who you must find so desperately?” 

She narrowed her eyes, dropping back down next to him, this time on one knee. She was much closer now; she had the strangest eyes, a swirling mix of sea green and, well, the sun just before it hit the horizon on a warm day. The warrior’s paint matched her eyes. Rich, dark brown hair cascaded down her shoulders, and she had a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. She was an elf, but he’d never seen any elves quite like her. The armor she wore, while simple in design, spoke of high quality. She was no mere soldier. She was a warrior.

Extraordinary.  

He cleared his throat, wishing he could rub the back of his neck. Trussed up like a pheasant that wasn’t exactly possible. 

“She is small, perhaps to your shoulder no more, wearing a snow-white fur cloak, her own hair short, and the yellow of sunlight. Her eyes are large, and green, her skin pale. Her weapon is a white staff, three-pronged with dragon heads. She is an elf, like-- You.” But nothing like you.

“I saw no one, much less a miniature snow elf. Who is this woman and why are you chasing her down? Is she your wife? Perhaps she has good reason to run from you.” 

He coughed. “I’m not married-- She’s not, no.” He cleared his throat. He was bloody-well freezing. “Maker’s breath,” he whispered, making her frown. “I’m not chasing her. I’m trying to find her. To help her. Take her back home.”

“You said all that. You did not say why.”

Cullen struggled against his bonds though he knew it was useless. Whoever had tied him, tied him well. The thought that she had done it made his neck positively burn. 

“Please. She is very important to me.” Her eyes flickered, stormy beneath the war paint she wore. She reminded him somewhat of Cassandra. “To my… world. I am her Commander, nothing more.”

Now the woman’s eyes looked quizzical. “Commander? Of an army? You don't dress like a Nord commander.”

“I am not a Nord, I assure you.” He was glad of it lest she slit his throat. Was that why she’d tied him up? She’d mistaken him for a Nord, whatever that was? Or perhaps she had tied him up because he had acted like a fool, and interrupted what her companions knew to be a well-honed defense. He glanced at the dead dragon.

Or offense, rather. He’d made a mistake, clearly, assuming this woman needed saving. The heap of dragon beyond the fire (a fire he desperately wished to be nearer) proved that. “I will explain, but I am freezing. May I please sit by the fire?”

She considered for a moment, pulling out a blade from her boot. She held it before him, its tip gleaming, its edge shimmering black. He’d not seen metal like that before. “You call yourself Commander.” He nodded. “What is your given name?”

“Cullen Rutherford.”

“Cullen,” she said, then held the knife close to his bonds. He shivered. From the cold. Definitely from the cold. “That is definitely not a Nord name.” She touched his shoulder, her fingers grazing the mantle. “Nor does this come from any animal I know. What is it?”

“That has been a question of much debate, actually.”

She flashed a quick grin. “Pity you don't know. It is lovely.” 

“I-- Thank you.” 

She lay one bare hand on his; light, a whisper of warmth. He sucked in his breath, couldn’t help it as he looked up at her, hoping she couldn’t detect his flushed face, the inexplicable flash of heat. Her eyes widened briefly as their gazes locked. She looked away, her mouth tight. 

She knew. Maker help me.  

“All right Commander Cullen Rutherford, you can sit by the fire as your unknown furs are doing little to keep you warm. You will explain who you are after we eat. Then I will decide what is to be done with you.” She curled her fingers around his hand, holding tight as she sliced the ropes from around his wrists. “I hope you like mammoth.”

“I’ve never had it, honestly.”

“You will be eating plenty of it as we travel so you’d best like it. You will stay with us for now. There is nowhere else for you to go, understand? Don't try to ‘wander’ off.” She moved to his boots. She paused, then pointed at the cat-man. “That’s Qa'Dojo. He is a former monk, but a combat monk. I’ve seen him fire an arrow at a wasp across an entire river, pinning it to a tree. I could only see the tree, not the wasp until I went to yank the arrow out.”

Then, her warning quite clear, she sliced the bonds from his boots and walked away.

Cullen sat up, rubbing his aching wrists. It seemed he would not be leaving soon then. Or at least not easily. He pushed himself to his feet and hesitating only briefly, approached the fire. He crouched in front of it, keenly aware of the lack of his sword by his side, and held his hands up to the flames, his gaze drifting to the other members of the woman’s party.

Qa'Dojo the combat monk--Cullen had never heard such a thing, much less a cat that could talk--nodded at him. He was basting several chunks of meat, turning them over a makeshift spit over the fire. Cullen could hardly take his eyes away, he was so fascinated by him; he wore an ornate dagger at his side, and he had a long tail that twitched as Cullen watched it. When the tail started twirling in circles and the cat-man chuckled, Cullen winced. 

“Sorry. That was rude of me..”

The cat-man bowed. “Qa’Dojo is amused and is teasing you. Welcome to the fire. Please, sit down and get warm. Dinner will be ready shortly.” He cocked his head, his tail now still. “You have not seen a Khajit before?”

“A... No.” Khajit, not cat-man

“Then this Khajit will introduce himself. Qa'Dojo, traveler, adventurer, former monk, and the Dragonborn’s right hand. And her left if she wants it. We have been together for many years, since we were kittens. And no, not together in such manner you are thinking. My mate will join us later.” Cullen’s face heated again. He had wondered. “She has saved Qa’Dojo’s life, and this Khajit hers, many times, paying each other back until we lost count. Now, we are stuck together. It is a good life, though it is cold, and the warm sands of my home call always. The Dragonborn needs me so the sands must wait.  Here. Try this.”

“What is it?”

“Mammoth.”  Ah. When Cullen stared at the meat, wondering what mammoth could be, Qa’Dojo chuckled. “You truly have not had it before?”

“No. I...we don't have mammoths. Thank you.” He took the skewer. “The Dragonborn? Why is she called that?” He glanced over to where the woman stood next to a quite tall hooded man in robes of some sort, her hands gesturing over the dragon’s bones as they talked. 

“This one is not the best to explain. Lucien will. He approaches.”

A young man, smaller and in what looked like too fine of clothes to be out in this weather, headed for the fire. He held a book in his hand that he leafed through as he walked, and nearly stumbled as he almost ran into the woman. The Dragonborn. 

“Oh sorry, sorry Boss. I-- I’ll just be over here…” He scampered towards the fire, eyes wide. Definitely was no warrior despite the sword at his hip. He looked, possibly, around Sutherland’s age. But then something in the book caught his eye and he stopped, pensive, and peered closer at the book, angling it toward the fire to catch the light. 

Cullen turned back to Qa'Dojo. “She is the Dragonborn you speak of?” 

Qa'Dojo made a rumbling sound. “Yes. You are lucky, my friend, that she pulled back when she did. There would not have been much left of you to piece together again.”

That...was disturbing. “Who is she, exactly? The Dragonborn. What does that mean?” And how had she slayed that dragon, presumably all by herself? He supposed he would find out soon enough. 

The young man looked up from his book, his eyes wide as he stared at Cullen. “So you can understand us! How thrilling! You truly don't know who the Dragonborn is? How strange! Where are you from that you don't know who the Dragonborn is?”

“Lucien,” Qa'Dojo said, but directed his gaze at Cullen, “Asks many questions. Prepare yourself.” 

“How else will I learn everything if I don't ask questions? May I ask you questions? But first, you might like answers. Oh, do let me tell him, Qa'Dojo. This is so exciting. I love explaining things. I want to hear all about where you are from. I’m an explorer, you see. Pel’s let me tag along--” He cleared his throat at a low growl from Qa'Dojo, clutching the book to his thin chest. “Sorry. Forgive me. I do get excited. As Qa'Dojo said I ask a lot of questions. But only because--” He sighed. “I am Lucien. Lucien Flavius, at your service.” He bowed, nearly dropping his book. Cullen had to stop himself from chuckling. “I am a mage, and a scholar, and oh yes, a milk-drinker, I am afraid, but I am getting better with the sword, I promise. And sneaking. Maybe you can teach me what you know? You have a very nice sword.”

“I… Thank you?” Cullen wondered where it was. 

Qa'Dojo rumbled, and handed Lucien a skewer of the mammoth. Lucien took it, closing his eyes briefly, and breathing in with a shudder. "You wanted to know about the Dragonborn? That would be our leader, Pel. Not the orc.” He gestured behind him with the skewer where she was still talking to the tall hooded man. An orc? He had never heard of this race, either. 

So far, this strange new world was very strange indeed. He was growing anxious though--the longer that he stayed here, the further away Saphielle would get. But he was stuck, for the time being. He prayed to the Maker that she’d found shelter, and was safe. 

It did puzzle him that he could understand these people. All sounded different, much as he, Cass and Josie sounded different to each other, but he had no trouble at all discerning their meaning. Was magic in the eluvian involved somehow? Or perhaps this world and his own were far more connected than by the eluvians? 

Confused, tired, and concerned, he glanced toward Pel. She turned at that moment and, gesturing to her companion, headed for the fire. Cullen stood, skewer still in hand as she approached; that garnered him an eyebrow raise.

Lucien took a bite of his mammoth, quickly swallowing. “Oh yes, that is delicious. Much better than swamp crabs, and those actually aren’t half bad. May I introduce to you... What is your name, sir?”

“Cullen Rutherford.”

“Commander Cullen Rutherford,” Pel said as she reached them and held her hands out to the fire. “Though he has yet to explain commander of what.” 

“Commander? Alrighty then! Commander Cullen Rutherford, of whatever, we don't know-- Where are you from?”

Pel sighed in exasperation. “Lucien. Stop interrupting yourself. Get on with it.”

“As you wish, Boss.”

She rolled her eyes at that.  He made a grand, sweeping gesture. “May I present Pelonia Sabrilia Attarnia; Dovahkiin, Born Hunter of Dragonkind; Eater of Souls; Voice of Thunder; and Last of Her Name. The Dragonborn! Or Pel as we call her. Though I call her Mittens too.”

“Why is that?”

He grinned. “When I first met her, she was instantly suspicious of course. She told me her name was Mittens.”

“Biggest mistake I made,” Pel said, turning the back of her hands to the fire.  “I had no intention of letting him tag along.”

“Why did you?” 

She shrugged. “Gold. Having a wealthy mage is useful.”

“I would give you the world if I could, Mittens!”  He turned to Cullen as Pel scowled. “Perhaps you should just call her Pel.” He straightened. “Where was I? Oh yes. The grumpy orc is Durak. Don't upset him. He will hurt you.” Lucien swallowed visibly. He leaned toward Cullen again, and whispered, loudly. “He hunts vampires for fun! ”

“Vampires?” He’d never heard of those.  

Lucien stepped closer to Cullen and looked up at him, eyes wide. “You don't have vampires? By the Divines you are fortunate! They’ll drink your blood and turn you into one of their own!”

Cullen grimaced. “Sounds like blood mages.” Dragons, blood mages, what other terrors did this world have in common with his own? 

Durak made a grumbling sound. “Some are mages, many are not. All are a threat. All must therefore be eradicated. As the pup said, I am Durak.”

“He used to be with the Dawnguard,” Lucien added, nodding. Not that that meant anything to Cullen, but the awe in Lucien’s voice was the kind he once held for Templars. 

“Used to be? He travels with you now?”

The Khajit made a strange purring sound. “He is useful. Quite talented with his...sword.” 

Lucien frowned. "But Durak uses a--" His eyes widened. "Ohhhh...."

The Khajit twirled his whiskers. Smirking, Pel helped herself to one of the skewers, then pulled a water bag off a stack on a boulder, and opened it, taking a long drink before handing it to Cullen. 

Cullen blinked, his face and neck heating as he realized he’d been staring at her while she drank. She hadn’t noticed; Qa'Dojo had. He thought, but wasn’t sure that Qa'Dojo was grinning. He accepted the water bag, then turned away just as Durak pulled back his hood.

Cullen stepped back in shock, a soft hiss escaping, his hand twitching for his sword and nearly dropping the water bag. While Qa'Dojo clearly was of a unique race--the tail a dead giveaway from the start--Durak’s appearance brought all of Cullen’s fears to the forefront. The similarity to his every nightmare stole his breath away. The man looked like darkspawn, or close enough to it, save for the massive pointed teeth jutting up from his lower jaw, and the amusement reflected in his yellow eyes.

“Scared the pup too first time we met.” Then, the man held out his hand. Hesitating only briefly, Cullen took it, and shook it. Firmly. The corner of Durak’s eyes crinkled in, what Cullen hoped, was a universal expression of amusement. “You need not fear me.” He jerked his head toward Lucien. “Only he needs to. Welcome.” 

Cullen took a deep breath, then nodded. “Thank you. I apologize for my...any rudeness.” He looked up at the rapidly-darkening sky. “This has been a day full of surprises.”

Pel sat; only then did the other three as well, Cullen following their move. The next few minutes were quiet as everyone ate, Cullen pointedly not watching Durak, though wondering how he ate with such huge tusks. Very neatly, actually; Durak plucked strings of mammoth from his portion instead of biting into it as the rest of them did. Cullen almost felt the savage in comparison.

Though his back still felt the bitter cold of the night creeping in, he was warm and full and tired enough that despite his worry for Saphielle, he had no doubt if offered a bedroll, he would quickly fall asleep. He listened as the others talked, wondering all the while when the questions would be directed at him once more. 

Bit by bit he learned about his hosts; the Dragonborn was chosen seemingly by a fluke of fate, or maybe not. She was blessed--though Pel made a face when Lucien said that--with an extraordinary power to fight her foes, a race of dragons once thought vanquished but that had now returned. That the dragons had once enslaved the people of this world surprised him.  

Lucien regaled Cullen with tales of their leader, the rest listening on. Durak eventually leaned against the Khajit. Qa'Dojo’s tail twitched then wrapped around Durak’s wrist. 

Pel didn’t move save to drink from her water bag as she watched them all. She sat a mere two feet from him, the fire’s flames making her eyes shine. She had, he thought, a very lovely nose, delicate ears mostly hidden by her long brown hair. 

Cullen found it very difficult to keep from watching her. He wondered what she thought of Lucien’s tale-spinning; he saw her frown, even wince more than once. Most intriguing was when she looked down, a small shake of her head when Lucien told how she slayed dragons.  

Pel turned her gaze on Cullen. “What about you, Commander Cullen Rutherford? Is the tale you will share with us the truth?” The doubt about him hung in the air between them. As, of course, it should.

“In truth, what we are dealing with--what the Inquisitor, who I chased after here--is dealing with isn’t much different than you are. She is a mage, but the most powerful magic she wields was an accident. A demon--more than a demon, really--named Corypheus is our nemesis, not a dragon though he commands one. Saphielle…” He took a deep breath, staring into the flames. “She is our only hope.” He held out his left hand; how he missed his gloves. “Through an accident, she was gifted with the ability to close rifts. That’s what she does. She travels over Thedas, with her companions like you do, Pel, to close the rifts and keep demons from entering Thedas.” 

“Rifts,” said Lucien. “What do you mean by rifts?”

“Tears in the sky, between our--my world, Thedas, and the Fade.”

Lucien nodded, eyes wide and sparkling. “That’s where the demons live, I take it?”

“That’s where they, and worse, live. We must go back. I must find her as soon as possible and return to Thedas. If we don't--” Cullen looked at Pel. He knew he sounded desperate to these people. He was desperate but he wasn’t sure they understood that.  

Pel had not moved, but her eyes shone in the waning firelight as she stared at it. “Go on, Commander,” she said. "Why is she here?"

“She was betrayed by one of her closest companions, the one she--by the one she loved. And trusted.” He scowled, anger at his own shortsideness blooming. “We all trusted him. He brought her here once--I don't know when--and she believed he came back here after he disappeared, I think. She said something about visiting someone here who might know where Solas has gone. I tried to stop her as she stepped through the eluvian but I could not. I followed her, but fell and lost her. I must find her and take her home, whether or not Solas is here, whether or not this mystery person can be found.” 

He returned his gaze to Pel, desperation making his voice crack. “I must find her, or my world will be doomed. I’m just a Commander. I am not the hero my world needs.” She finally looked at him. “I can lead her armies, I will lead the Inquisition armies against Corypheus, but she is the only one who can close the rifts. She is the one who Corypheus seeks, and the only one who has the power to stop him. Our fortress, Skyhold, is hidden deep in the mountains and he has not found us yet. He is looking though. He will never stop looking for her.” It hit him then, the shock of it roiling through him as it all became clear. “If Corypheus discovers she has come here, to your world, he will follow.” He stood, agitated; for the first time in weeks, the back of his neck ached. He rubbed it now, finding no relief.

Pel looked up at him, eyes sharp as was her tone. “What do you mean? Follow her here?”  

“Corypheus wants the anchor, the magic in her left hand. Solas, the elf who broke her trust,” broke her heart, “knows more about it than he ever told us, apparently.” Anger settled on him. “We trusted him. I did as well, not questioning--” He sighed. “I was such a fool.” 

Pel’s eyes widened, then narrowed.

“This does not sound good, Pel,” Lucien said. “I don't think I would enjoy meeting this Corypheus.

Qa’Dojo grumbled.  “The Khajit suggests you hush, Lucien,” Durak said. 

Lucien cringed. “Sorry. Sorry.”  

Cullen stared across the fire, the flames gentling down into coals. But he could still see Pel’s face, the horror in her eyes as she understood what he was saying. 

“Do you realize what you, your little princess has done?” Pel finally said.

“Do you think I haven’t?” he bit out. When she said nothing, he threw up his hands in frustration. Why wouldn’t they listen?

Cullen walked away from them all. The camp was on a cliff, and he headed for the edge, half-expecting someone to stop him. Instead, he heard footsteps behind him. Pel, he thought, given the lightness of the steps, and the silence. Lucien would’ve been yammering at him already. 

He stared down into the misty valley below. If the situation were different, if he wasn’t worried out of his mind for Saphielle, for Thedas--Maker, for himself--he would find it easy to appreciate the beauty of this world.  Perhaps someday he could, though he planned to stay here for as little time as possible.

Pel drew up beside him, but remained silent; perhaps she too was trying to find the right words.

“Please. I must find her. I need your help, Pel. The others’ help too.” Below him trees rose up among white mist. He could just make out the glimmer of water--the river, perhaps? A lake? It was difficult to tell.  A flock of birds calling to each other flew below them, and in the distance he heard the howl of a wolf. “I don't know where to begin. I don't know this world. I am, unfortunately, rather helpless.” He huffed. He didn't even have his sword.

“What do you wish of us, Commander?”

He turned to her then. “I need your help to find Saphielle, and get her home. If I don't find her, and quickly, then I fear for your world. I fear Corypheus will come here to take what he sees as his, and there is nothing any of you--any of us --can do to stop him.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, rubbing his forehead. “Only Saphielle can save us. Only a small, terribly-heartbroken elven young woman can do this. Please. Help me. The future of both our worlds could be at stake.” 

“I will consider your request.”

He took a deep breath. “I appreciate that.”

She said nothing more, and neither did he, though they both stared down into the valley for a moment longer before returning to the others.

Chapter Text

Cullen tossed and turned most of that first night, the cold winds buffeting against the tent interrupting his attempts to find sleep. The howling wind, and the constant bumping by Lucien who gravitated toward Cullen all night, made certain he found little rest. 

Eventually, Cullen gave up trying to scoot away from the young man, and let him stay curled against him like a puppy. A constantly twitching puppy.  

There wasn’t, at least, any danger of frostbite. Lucien had proven to be a quite talented mage in a most amazing way; before they all retired, he’d magically heated rocks which Durak placed inside each of the tents. The trapped air, if not as warm as a fire, at least kept each tent’s inhabitants from freezing.  It was a trick Cullen wouldn’t have minded having in Skyhold. Maybe if he’d had heated rocks beneath his bed, he wouldn’t have had to fix the hole in his roof. Saphielle’s teasing threats that she’d stop sleeping in his quarters had hurried the repairs, though he’d thought them unnecessary. He liked seeing the stars on clear nights. He’d done the repairs for her, of course. Not that she’d slept there much longer, anyway.  

Maker, he sounded pitiful, even to himself.  

Cullen finally gave up trying to sleep.  The sun was coming up, but he was reluctant to leave the tent just yet. How he wished he’d woken up in his own bed--alone--this entire nightmare nothing more than that! 

Unfortunately, that was not the case.  He was still in Skyrim, he could only guess which direction Saphielle had gone, doom loomed over his shoulders, and he had no idea how to get back to the eluvian. He needed a plan, now , but the Dragonborn had made certain he would stay put. 

Things were very grim indeed.

His fellow advisers must be frantic by now.  Mother Giselle would’ve told them that he had followed after Saphielle. He would have to take what little comfort he could that at least Leliana, Josie, Cass and the rest would conclude, when they found his gloves, he’d chased after Saphielle and gone...somewhere. And, intended to come back. 

He would get them both back home to Skyhold. There could be no other outcome.

Of course, he had not had the time or presence of mind to leave one glove at the first eluvian, and the second in front of the eluvian that led here. 

No, of course not. There would be no help coming.

Beside him Lucien sighed, snuggling against his back and making soft whimpering sounds. Cullen shook his head in bemusement.  Lucien wasn’t quite as young as Cullen had initially thought but most definitely as naive as he’d imagined; he would’ve sent such a boy back home to his father until he could grow more than peach fuzz, and didn’t jump at every little thing.  Milk-drinker, indeed. 

He could see why Pel kept him around, however. Lucien was spirited, and enthusiastic, and had a great deal of knowledge about Skyrim though he wasn’t from there--here--either.  The book he intended to write about the Dragonborn’s exploits would no doubt be popular. Varric would enjoy talking writing with the kid, he thought, even as it dawned on him that Lucien might well include him in his tale.  

The role of the bumbling foreign Commander would suffice, not much different than how Varric had depicted him in The Tale of the Champion. And yet, he could admit to himself now that despite Varric’s ofttimes-painful depiction of him as Knight-Captain, he’d rather enjoyed that book.

His thoughts turned back to the seriousness of his current position. He was, without doubt, in danger. Pel could’ve killed him. She might still kill him; he was weaponless, and helpless, and supervised, albeit by a milk-drinker.  He was, in effect, the Dragonborn’s prisoner. It would’ve been easier to simply kill him when she had the opportunity.  

That made him curious; what had stopped her--at the last possible second--from blowing him apart?  He tried to remember those startling seconds… He knew he must’ve looked a madman, coming to her rescue.  And she… The look in her eyes as they stared at each other that brief moment before his life could have ended--  

Wonder. 

His heart did a little betraying flip, remembering that moment, lost to him until now.  If he were her, with the magic she could wield--powerful enough to kill a dragon--he would’ve found it impossible to pull back. Even aborting a powerful swing of his sword had consequences but it was obvious after knocking him ass over boot heel she’d gone on to easily slay her foe. 

He wished he had seen that. 

He could lay here no longer, the morning’s urge to relieve himself making itself known.  Cullen edged away from Lucien and sat up to pull on his boots; they’d spent the night next to the still-mildy-warm rocks and felt divine. Boot warmers. Perhaps he would implement that in Skyhold, too. 

As he pulled on his coat he thought he heard movement outside the tent, followed by a flustered curse in a language he’d not yet heard. Elvish? Pel. A flash of embarrassment made his neck heat. He’d hoped she’d still be sleeping.  He didn’t exactly relish the thought of her witnessing him disappearing behind a bush, but he couldn’t delay any longer. 

He heard Pel’s voice clearly once he stepped out of the tent. At least he could go the other direction; and then he heard his name. 

“Cullen Rutherford. What kind of name is that? Do you believe what he told you?” 

So, he hadn’t convinced her after all. He was oddly deflated by that.   

“This Khajit does, my friend. He is sincere, and his eyes hold truth. And, he is no vampire, though Durak suspected that to be the reason behind his paleness. Did you see when he looked at me? White as snow.”

She laughed. “Your whiskers scared him, Qa'Dojo. You do realize that.”

“Perhaps my teeth did. No Khajit in his world. A pity. Qa’Dojo thinks perhaps you did scare him also.”

She huffed. He heard the jangling of tack, the shifting of horses.  “Well, he scared me first. I could have killed him. Very nearly did.”  She sighed. “When I turned and saw him hurtling toward me, this gorgeous blond man in a ridiculous outfit straight out of some play, sword flashing in the sunlight, and such desperation and determination in his eyes… He came out of absolutely nowhere. How? ”

“He told us how. Through a magic mirror.”

“I know this area as well as anywhere in Skyrim. Better than most places in Skyrim. There is nothing here. This is no storybook tale, Qa’Dojo. Magic mirrors don't exist anymore, though I should ask my uncle about that to make sure. Regardless, I’m no princess who needs saving.”

“No, but there is one who does need saving. Will you help him? If what he said is true about his world, she is needed there as much as you are here.” The Khajit paused. “My sister, we need to speak.”

“Not now, Qa'Dojo.”

“Paarthurnax awaits.”

“Well, Paarthykins can continue to wait. I’m not ready.”

Qa'Dojo chuckled. “Maybe waiting to be ready is not the answer. Maybe starting the journey will bring the answer. He will come, regardless. There is no stopping this.”

A long pause. “I know.”

Silence for a long moment. Cullen waited, questions roiling through his head.  Who was Paarthur… he couldn’t remember the rest. What was she putting off? Clearly she was dreading something, and worried over what to do.  

“I’m frightened, Qa'Dojo. What if I can’t do this? What if I fail?”  The worry and yes, fear in her voice concerned Cullen. A woman who slew a dragon without fear, feared… what? 

“This Khajit has your back. Always.”

“I know, my heart-brother. And I am grateful to you. For everything. I’m just--”  The familiar sound of preparing a horse for riding was all he heard for a long moment.  “This is something I have to do alone.”

“This Khajit wishes this did not have to be so.”

“I know. We’ll help our guest find his little princess first, then go see Partysnacks.”

“Someday you will call him that or worse to his face. He may not be amused.” He heard Pel’s laugh.  “You do believe him, then? The Commander, that is. That he is from another world.”

“The Commander. So formal, Qa’Dojo. Though I guess it is proper to call him that. I think I do believe him. I don't believe he doesn’t care for his snow princess. The look in his eyes when he said her name? That was love. Or at least, admiration. Or maybe I’m just a romantic and like happy endings.”

“You are most definitely a romantic.”  

“Just not for myself.”

“Why not? You said he was handsome--”

“I did not! When?”

“When I saw him hurtling toward me, this gorgeous man straight out of some play, sword flashing, desperation and determination in his eyes… ”

“I hate you.”  Cullen found himself smiling, despite how deeply his face heated.  What she said next did not help cool him down. “Oh. Well, he is ridiculously pretty. I’d even call him beautiful except he looks too much like a Nord.” Qa'Dojo chuckled. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. My track record with men is not exactly stellar.”

“You have only loved once before. His ending was not your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” she said with a sigh. “I failed to warn him adequa--”

“Pel .” This was said sharply. “His ending was not your fault. The boy was a fool. Greed steered him, and the result was his death.”

“I know. I mean…  This-- This is different. I am the Dragonborn. What I want or dream of doesn’t really matter, does it? Alduin will see to that.”

The pain behind her words was unmistakable. Who was this person close to her who died?  This Alduin who threatened her? In all the talking the night before, neither had been mentioned. Or perhaps, carefully not mentioned. 

“Good morning, Commander! Did you sleep well?”

Cullen startled.  He backed down into the tent again, finding Lucien awake and rubbing his eyes.  

“I did. Those heated rocks made all the difference. Thank you. I’m-- Well. Off to locate a bush.”

Lucien grabbed his boots and yawned. “Go on, I’ll fix the bedrolls.” He stared at them, his gaze moving from his, to the one Cullen had used, and how they tangled. “Oh. Did I… cuddle with you last night? I am sorry. That’s why Qa'Dojo doesn’t like me to sleep next to him when Durak’s not with us. He says I am too hot and it makes his fur damp. I wasn’t too hot, was I? I didn’t… I mean… I apologize.”

“It’s fine.”

Lucien covered his face. “IdidcuddleyouohDivinesIamsosorry...”

Cullen chuckled, then pushed his way out of the tent, leaving Lucien fretting behind him.  He stood, pretending to stretch, again, then movement caught his eye. The orc was at the fire, pouring some sort of powder into a kettle. Durak looked at him, raising an eyebrow and Cullen knew he’d been caught. No doubt Durak had seen him moments before, frozen in place while Pel talked about him.  He sighed, and walked over to the fire, immediately putting his hands out. Already the bitter cold was seeping in and stripping away his warmth. He sorely missed his gloves.

“Good morning, Commander. Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you.”

“You overheard Pel talking about you, yes?”

Cullen nodded, his face heating. She found him gorgeous; well, she was, too. But he didn’t think now was the time--and certainly not the world--to say that. The promise Rylen had extracted from him surfaced now but he pushed that aside, his heart clenching a little as his betraying mind flooded him with possibilities that he could never have.    

“It was not my intention--” His apology fell flat. “Excuse me for a moment, please?”

Durak nodded. Cullen hurried past him, finding a suitable tree to hide him while he took care of his needs.  By the time he returned to the fire, Lucien was huddled in front of it, another book on his lap, and Qa'Dojo was pulling down the tents.  

Durak handed him a mug, half full of some dark brown, sweet-smelling liquid with foam on top. A swirl of steam rose over it and Cullen took a sip, eyes widening at the concoction. “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate. Borrowed it from some bandits. Not much left, best hot.” Cullen nodded, finishing it quickly, relishing the warmth that spread through him.  Durak took his mug, and handed him another. “Take this to her. Be careful with her, Commander,” he said, stopping Cullen just as he was turning away. It was hard to detect expressions on Durak's face, but the low growl beneath the words was clear.  

“Commander, a word please?” Cullen turned at the sound of Pel’s voice from over by the horses. She peeked over one’s back--a half-brown, half-spotted horse--and waved at him.  

Baffled, and not a little bewildered by Durak’s warning, Cullen headed for Pel. Had he acted inappropriately? Or what an orc would call inappropriate? He certainly could use Josie’s diplomatic advice right now.  

Pel ran a brush down the horse’s back, its unusual hide gleaming in the early morning sun. It was a lovely beast--stocky, unlike Ferelden horses--but lovely nonetheless.  It looked like it could go many miles, if not quickly. Pel smiled, her eyes widening in unmistakable pleasure when she saw the mug which he held out to her. She came around the horse and took it, fingers brushing his.  She glanced at him before sniffing deeply, eyes closing, the steam curling around her long lashes. Now that they stood face to face, Cullen realized his first impression was correct; she was tall, quite tall for an elf, her eyes even with his nose.

Maker. Why was he noticing these things?  She was his captor. Heat rushed through him despite the persistent cold and his private admonishment. He couldn't help but watch her as she took a sip, the smile playing on her full lips. She nodded, seemingly well-pleased.

“Delicious. Durak always makes it perfect. Have you had hot chocolate before?”

“No, I can’t say I have. I-- Pel, forgive me. I overheard you speaking with Qa'Dojo earlier.”

She startled, then shrugged, turning back to the horse.  “Can you ride, Commander?”

“I-- What? Of course.”

She tossed the brush into a bag, then slid her hand around the horse’s neck. It pushed against her, making her lose her balance and Cullen of course steadied her.  She smirked as he snatched his hands back. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Commander. I don't bite. This one's a pushy one, likes to knock Lucien over if he doesn’t pay attention.” 

“A horse with a sense of humor.”  He reached up and petted its nose; it tossed its head, but then pushed against his hand, nibbling his fingers. It felt good. Warm.  He felt the weight of Pel’s gaze on him.

“You need gloves. I’ll see if Durak has a spare pair.”

“I would appreciate that.”  The horse butted against his hand.  “He is a lovely horse. I’ve never seen such markings.” He glanced down, noting the lack of… well.  “She,” he corrected. “ She is lovely.”

Pel laughed.  “This is Kamarin. She’ll be your mount. We’re about six hours from the nearest village, Rorikstead. They’ve sighted a dragon several times the last few weeks and I need to make sure it is not still about. We won’t stay long.” The last was said more softly, a hint of regret in her voice. Then she smiled again. He quite liked her smile, so much better than the glares she’d given him the day before.  “We’ll go on to Solitude from there, and speak with my Uncle Auryen. He may have insight as to who your Inquisitor has gone to see. I have decided to help you find her, Commander, and help you return home.”

“You think you’ll be able to find the cave where we came out?” She looked past him, the direction he’d come. Or thought he had. To his eyes, their surroundings were a blur of snow, trees and mountains. 

“You came out of nowhere, Commander. I don't know, but I can try.  My cousin knows these hills even better than I do, so we’ll see.” The horse pushed against her. He grabbed for her mug, steadying it before it could spill. Her eyes shot up to his. He quickly removed his hand, the urge to rub his neck as strong as it ever was.  “See? Pushy. Is something wrong with your neck? You took quite the tumble yesterday.” She grinned. “A few times.”

“No, I am fine.” He rubbed it again then dropped his hand at her raised eyebrow. So much for ridding himself of that habit.

Stress. Stress caused the tenseness, and he was very stressed. And tense. The early morning sun bathed Pel’s face just then as if she’d bidden it herself. She closed her eyes briefly, flashing that smile at him again. 

Maker, she had a beautiful smile. His heart danced a tune he’d not heard in a long, long time--not even for Saphielle--and he cursed it, and himself, for doing so now. When she touched his hand, those lovely eyes concerned, he startled.  

“Commander? Are you all right?”

“I-- Am. Sorry. Thank you. I must find her. To return home without her--” He couldn’t bear the thought of that. He would return to a world that would not survive.  

“You do care for her.” 

Had she mistaken his momentary silence as thinking about Saphielle? He had been, but not like she probably thought. “I-- Of course I do. She is my Inquisitor, first and foremost.” He hesitated, debating telling Pel the truth of it, and finding the words tumbled out. “We were together for a short time.”  

“What happened?”

His smile was hard, rueful. “Duty happened. It was long ago.”

“Duty,” Pel said. “It is always duty, isn’t it?” She leaned against the horse for a moment. “I know the price of duty, Commander. All too well. You said she was in love with this Solas person and he left her.”

“Yes.” He looked up at her, surprised by the heat in her eyes.  

“So, you were together, and she left you for him?”

“It was necessary.”

She grimaced. “So you said. Duty.” She said the word with distaste. “I know what it does to a person. How it ruins lives.” The bitterness was back in her voice. She leaned her head against the horse’s cheek and stroked the mare’s nose.  “When I became the Dragonborn, I didn’t take it well, even though the alternative would’ve been worse.”

“What was that?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Beheaded. I was on the block when the first dragon attacked Helgen.”

Beheaded?  “What did you do?”

“I made a mistake, and was with all the wrong people. Oddly enough, the dragon saved my life that day, though it cost me almost everything. Except for Qa’Dojo and my uncles, and my cousin, everyone suddenly disappeared. Even my parents turned away.”

“Your own parents? Maker. I am sorry. I can’t imagine my parents rejecting me for something out of my control.”  Before she could ask, he said, “My own parents are gone. Did they ever say why?”

She grimaced. “They are Altmer, Commander.  And Thalmor to boot. Their beliefs about who and who isn’t worthy of saving are not my own. Too many summers spent with my uncle excavating warped me, my mother once told me.  Even though I complain about Nords, and hate the Stormcloaks for their beliefs, I will not turn my back on them. I can’t. They think I should.  I am all that stands between Alduin’s plans and the people of Skyrim, perhaps all of Tamriel.”

He thought of what he heard her say earlier, to Qa'Dojo, about whoever she’d been close to who had died. He had so many questions but those particular ones could wait.  “You have your companions.”

She took another sip from her mug, nodding. “I do. And my uncles and cousin. You’ll meet them in Solitude.” Then, to his shock, her face crumpled a little before she caught herself. “They won’t be able to help me in the end, though. Like your Inquisitor, that is all up to me. Anyway. We need to get going soon. Take my mug back to Durak, will you?” She all but shoved it at him, then turned away, reaching for a saddle and picking it up with ease. 

He watched her as she walked toward one of the horses--this one a greyish-beige stallion with dark mane and tail. A not-unexpected wave of protectiveness--his ages-old desire to help others--settled on his shoulders, and clamped down hard.  

For the first time he considered that the Maker himself had directed him to this world for a purpose. He needed Pel’s help, and she needed his, as well. How he could help her, he wasn’t certain yet.  But he would do his best to try.

Chapter Text

They did not linger long at camp. Within minutes after the last tent was down they set out for the village where the dragon had been recently sighted. Cullen was most grateful they quickly left the snow and deep bitter cold behind, and though the chill remained, the sun shone bright overhead. After awhile, he even considered taking his coat off. 

They were in no hurry, it seemed, as Pel set what Cullen thought a rather leisurely pace. He was anxious to get to this village, hoping the Inquisitor had stopped there or someone had seen her pass by. Pel had still not returned his sword. It remained strapped to her own mount. If she recognized his frustration, she ignored it. 

After a few hours of relatively stark grassy land, their path took them down into a forested valley. They now rode along a river that swirled with rich blues and deep purples as it tumbled over massive boulders of brown, black and grey that glittered in the sun. Pel told him that once they crossed a bridge by a waterfall--which he could hear but not yet see--they would be close to their destination. He hoped they’d come across the bridge soon. It had been some time since he’d last been in the saddle for longer than an hour or two, and he was quite ready to stretch his legs.

He tried not to worry about the Inquisitor, but it was difficult. 

It still would be several hours yet before they reached their destination, so Cullen decided he could at least enjoy the ride. Skyrim was without doubt a beautiful country. Stunningly so. He was not a poetic man, his writing talents more conducive to list-making and report writing; nonetheless, he kept trying to describe to himself in ways he would remember later how beautiful this land was that he’d found himself stuck in. 

Such magnificence! Such grandeur and exquisiteness! He huffed to himself, amused at the inadequacy of his words. Perhaps it would be best to leave the writing to his young companion/keeper. While Pel rode ahead of them all, and the two other men rode behind, Lucien had glued himself to Cullen’s side. Lucien might be young and untried, but he was still a mage of unknown power. Pel had, without doubt, assigned Lucien to watch over him for a reason.

It shamed Cullen that he briefly considered whether the mages of this world were as susceptible to a Templar’s powers as mages were in Thedas. His curiosity, however, was genuine. How did they manifest their magical abilities? Did they too connect to the Fade, understand it as the source of their magic? Questions he would save for the Inquisitor, he decided. He didn’t want to risk antagonizing his...hosts.  

Lucien’s horse broke into a trot, making him bounce roughly in the saddle. “Whoa girl. Easy, that’s a good girl.”

Cullen found himself smiling as the horse slowed back to a walk. “I think she understood you.” He took a deep breath of the clean, crisp air, then ran one hand through his mop of hair. The curls were already winning, he thought with a sigh.

“She did! Amazing!” He patted the horse’s neck. “What a good girl! It is very pretty here, isn’t it, Commander? This part of Skyrim is simply marvelous. Much more interesting than snow, snow, and more snow.”

“I am from a very snowy country, but I can’t argue with you.” 

He truly couldn’t. The area they rode through now was as picturesque as any Ferelden landscape. Rich green plants with flowers on long stalks clung tenaciously to the river’s edge, their yellow and orange faces cheery and abuzz with bees. Birds the likes of which he had never heard before trilled to each other high overhead. Occasionally, a fish leaped out of the water, its silvery scales catching the sun. The thought of fishing along the river’s banks appealed to him, though he couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself such a simple pleasure. 

The other side of the river rose sharply into rocky hills, and as they turned around a corner, he saw at last the waterfall, cascading down those hills and meeting the river along which they walked in a tumultuous crash. As Pel had said, a bridge crossed over this part of the river.

The trees were the most remarkable. Giant trees lined the cobbled road, their red bark peeling off in strips, their leafy canopies waving in the breeze. Cullen estimated it would take no less than six men to encircle one of the trees. There were all kinds of other trees too, some with flowers, others with fruit, and different colors of leaves and bark. He tilted his head up, trying to estimate how tall the trees could possibly be. 

“Doesn’t your world have trees?”

Cullen startled, glancing at his companion. Lucien’s eyes were wide and curious. “Of course we have trees. Admittedly,” he said, looking up at the massive behemoths they were passing under, “not quite this large. Everything seems oversized here compared to what I am used to.” 

“Oh everything’s big in Skyrim,” Lucien said, nodding. “Trees, wolves, bears, mountains, rivers and lakes and--”

“Mouths,” Pel called back from where she rode ahead of them.

Lucien frowned. “My mouth is quite normal, thank you. There are much bigger mouths than mine, I am sure of it.” Behind them, Qa'Dojo chuckled. Lucien ignored him, turning in his saddle to face Cullen. “Commander, do people in your world, well are they smaller than you? Or bigger? Do you have elves? I know there are no Khajit or Argonians...”

“Argonians?”

“They look like giant lizards, but never say that to one’s face.” Lucien screwed up his own face, touching a scar on his chin.

“We do have elves, but they are of small stature.”

“Different kinds of elves?”

“Different?” He paused. “Not like you think. Different belief systems exist, different circumstances.”

“How so?”

Cullen smiled. Lucien definitely asked a great many questions, but it helped distract him from his weighty concerns. Cullen watched Pel. He was certain she was rolling her eyes. He wished he could urge his horse forward to speak with her; he had questions he’d like to ask her alone. Instead, it seemed he was stuck answering Lucien’s instead. “Dalish, who live on the land and are more traditional, City Elves who live in the cities.” He decided against mentioning the elven slaves of Tevinter. “The Inquisitor is Dalish. She was in line to be Keeper of her clan, eventually, until she took on this role.”

“We have Bosmer elves and Dunmer elves. Bosmer are also called wood elves. Dunmer are also called dark elves, and the most common kind, especially in Windhelm and of course Solstheim. And Altmer elves like Pel, the least common here in Skyrim as their country is the Somerset Isles. And of course there used to be snow elves but not anymore.”

Durak grunted. “You forget the Falmer.”

Pel said, “No one forgets the Falmer. There’s also Gelebor. He is the last true snow elf. We killed his brother, a vampire.”

Lucien shuddered, rubbing his hands up and down his forearms. He angled toward Cullen. “Gelebor is thousands of years old. He’s a knight-paladin guarding some ancient runes. I wasn’t with Pel during all that.”

“He is the only one left, then,” Cullen said.

“Oh yes, snow elves died out thousands of years ago, mostly. The ones left became...lesser. They became slaves of the Dwemer and… lost their minds. Seeing them now, it is hard to believe snow elves were said to be beautiful, and even more powerful than the Altmer.” He grinned. “Except Pel.”

“That doesn’t count,” Pel said. She half turned in her saddle. “So Commander, have you any unusual races where you are from?”

“The Qunari, I suppose. They are much taller and more muscular than I am, and have horns.”

Lucien’s eyes lit up. “Horns! Oh that is exciting. Are they all the same, like sheep? I would like very much to meet one of these Qunari. Do you know any personally?”

“The Iron Bull.” 

“A man named Iron Bull?”

Cullen chuckled. “That’s, capital t, The Iron Bull. It suits him.”

“He sounds dreadfully frightful, this The Iron Bull.”

“Bull is a warrior, true, but he has a huge soft spot for those under his command. And the Inquisitor. He is a good man.” And, right now, he was probably as frantic as the rest of them over Saphielle’s disappearance--he always, always went with her on missions, having taken on not just the role of companion, but personal bodyguard. Cullen had always been glad of that. 

“So, Qunari, elves, and humans?”

“And dwarves of course.”

Lucien stared at Cullen. “Dwarves? Real, live dwarves?”

Cullen frowned. “You sound surprised.”

It was Pel who answered. “Dwarves, the Dwemer, died out here eons ago. They left remarkable artifacts behind. My uncle has dedicated his life to unearthing and restoring their works.”

“No dwarves. How odd,” he mused. 

Lucien shifted in his saddle. “Dwarves. Imagine that. Are they truly short?”

Cullen laughed. “Yes. Few dwarves come to my chest, though I am on the higher side of average for humans.”

“Bigger all over, or taller? You are quite stocky.”

“Just like a Nord,” Pel said from in front of them.

Cullen huffed. “I look forward to meeting one of these Nords I supposedly resemble.” 

His horse side-stepped a little; looking back he saw a snake slither into some bushes. Lucien’s mare startled into a trot. He shrieked, pulling on the reins and making her shake her head, nearly rearing up which would no doubt unseat the lad.  

“Easy, Lucien,” Cullen said, grabbing the mare’s bridle. “It was just a snake. Let her settle on her own. Easy girl,” he said to the horse while Lucien covered his face with his hands. Fortunately the mare was soon plodding along again and Lucien took up the reins. 

“A snake! I don't care for snakes,” Lucien whined. “Or spiders, or rats, or wolves. But mostly spiders. Spiders are the worst. Giant spiders. Do you have spiders in your world?”

“Spiders, wolves, bears, rats, we have those as well. And dragons.”

“Dragons!”

Pel pulled her horse up. “What do you do with your dragons?” 

Cullen stopped his horse, as did the others. “Do with them?” He was genuinely puzzled--not by her question, but the anger behind her words. “Nothing. We leave them alone, if we can.”

She frowned. “You don't kill them?”

“Not unless absolutely necessary, no. The Inquisitor has had to kill two that were marauding villages, but we have no Dragonborn. It is not an easy task and she didn’t do it alone. Bull and two others helped her.” The dragons in Thedas tended to be much larger than the one he had seen so far, too--it was madness not to leave them alone, despite Bull’s creative arguments on why he and the Inquisitor should be killing every dragon they found. “Dragons aren’t our main concern. Worse are the demons and darkspawn.”

Now Lucien paled. “Demons? Darkspawn? I don't know what darkspawn are. Maybe I don't want to know what darkspawn are.” He paused. “What are they?”

“They are your worst nightmare, worse than demons as their touch can, and will, taint you. I have known those who have fallen from blight sickness. I wouldn't wish that awful death on my worst enemy. There usually isn't a cure for it, though I have known of someone to survive it by becoming a Grey Warden. It is their job to fight darkspawn, much like Pel does with the dragons here, but I know not how they overcome the sickness themselves. They are a rather secretive order.

“And these darkspawn are all over your planet?” Now Lucien looked positively green.

“Underground mostly, but I’ve encountered them many times, especially since Corypheus came into his power. The last Blight was several years ago and thankfully only lasted a year, but the darkspawn are minions of Corypheus so we have been encountering them more often than we’d like. The Grey Wardens were created to fight the Blight, and are our front line of defense. I have many friends who are Wardens. Even our King, Alistair, is a Warden.” He was oversimplifying things, but it would take hours to explain what these people would never encounter. 

“Does he fight them still?” Lucien asked.

Cullen smiled, shaking his head. “Alistair and I have been friends for a long time, since before he became King of Ferelden. He would gladly fight them, but after his brother died in battle with the darkspawn, he took the Ferelden throne. I daresay there are days he’d rather fight ten darkspawn on his own than do the paperwork required of a King.” 

“What about you?” Lucien asked. “Are you one too? A Grey Warden I mean. Obviously you are not a king.”

Cullen hesitated. He saw the way Pel straightened, though she kept her gaze studiously ahead. “No. I am the Commander of the Inquisition forces.”

“You must have done amazing things to become a Commander. How old are you? You can’t be that old.”

Cullen chuckled. “I feel much older than I am.” His voice softened, memories darkening his voice. “I have gone through much--dealt with much--to hold the role I do today. I am--was --a Templar before joining the Inquisition.”

“What is a Templar? Why did you leave?”

Durak grumbled. “You ask too many questions, pup.”

“I don't mind answering them, though I hope he’ll answer the questions I have, later,” Cullen said. Lucien nodded eagerly. “I could no longer support what the Templars had become. The Templars were formed by the Chantry--our religious institution--to watch over their mage charges, but that ideal became corrupted.” He saw Lucien’s puzzled frown. Pel pulled up, waiting for them to catch up, and guided her horse to walk beside Lucien. Qa'Dojo pulled ahead. 

“What do you mean, their mage charges?” she asked.

Cullen took a deep breath. “In my world, until recently anyone who showed magical abilities was required to live in what we call Circles. As a Templar, my role--until I became Knight-Captain--was to ensure the mages were kept safe from becoming blood mages and summoning demons. As Knight-Captain I watched over the Templars.”

Pel’s eyes flashed. “Kept safe? By keeping them locked away? What kind of life is that?”

He truly regretted starting this conversation. “I believe--I used to believe that mages must be kept in Circles, under the Templars’ watchful eye. What I came to understand as I grew older, and met a mage and his family and friends who had never been in a Circle, was that Circle mages were little more than prisoners. We punished them for just being what they were, mages.” He shook his head, memories he’d long banished pushed firmly behind him. “And I and all my fellow Templars were their jailers,” he said, his voice dropping in self-disgust. 

“Something must have happened to change your mind,” Pel said.

“I am ashamed to admit it took many years for me to see things differently. I was very stubborn, though for good reason. Terrible things happened at the Circle Tower where I was first assigned that only confirmed what I believed. In desperation, the mages turned to blood magic, and--” He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them. “Demons took over the Circle.  Many--most--Templars were killed. I was tormented for many days. It changed me.” He paused. “How could it not?”

He glanced at Pel, but he couldn’t tell her thoughts. She kept her expression carefully blank; she turned away from him though, making his heart sink. 

Why did what she thinks of me begin to matter?  He had no answer for that.

“So. You got away, obviously," she said. "How?"

“Would you believe my King? Before he became King of course. He and his fellow Wardens saved my life.” He paused. “And I will forever be grateful for that, though again, it was many years before I was healed, before I understood many things.” 

“The mages became demons?” Lucien said, clutching his hand to his chest. “I don't want to be a demon!”

“I think maybe magic is different here. I am sure you don't have to fear that as a possibility.”

“We certainly have no darkspawn here. What about those people you knew who were never in a Circle?” Lucien asked. 

Cullen found a smile despite the dark pall hanging over him. “Hawke. And his sister, Bethany. They are mages, but their parents kept them hidden so they grew up outside the Circle.” The thought of either Hawke or Bethany under the harsh watchful eye of Templars made Cullen cringe. “They were a major factor in my questioning the role of Templars. Good people who I ended up supporting, going against my Knight-Commander, and everything wrong that the Templars had become.”

And then Anders had blown up the Chantry, killing everyone inside. Anger seethed through him; somewhere, Anders and the abomination inside him still lived, free and alive. That was one mage he would kill without compunction, despite Hawke’s personal relationship with the man. 

Once and once only he’d asked Hawke where Anders had gone, and Hawke had said, He is safe. That’s all you need to know.  

Lucien had taken out his journal, and was attempting to write while guiding his horse. Cullen took the reins he was about to drop. “Thank you. I have a question.”

Durak grumbled. “One?”

Lucien frowned, but Cullen nodded at him to go on. “How did you become an ex-Templar? What makes a Templar a Templar? I am certainly glad we don't have them here, me being a mage and all. I can’t imagine it. Shut up in a dreary tower, watched over day and night, unable to leave--” He visibly shuddered. “How could you do that to people?”

Guilt he was familiar with flared in Cullen. “This is why I am no longer a Templar, and why am behind the changes that are being made.” 

Ahead of them the unmistakable trumpet of a dragon sounded. As they all pulled up their horses, the giant creature roared again and rose up in front of them, the flapping of its wings causing a whirlwind to buffet against them. The dragon screeched, the sound of it reaching deep into Cullen’s skull. The others jumped off their horses, and Cullen did the same. 

“My sword.”

“No.” Pel glared at him. “You need to stay out of my way.”

He wanted to argue--he was not Commander here, and could fight if allowed his sword--but he nodded. “As you command--” He hesitated, “Dragonborn.”

She rolled her eyes and took off running.

Cullen followed behind, taking care not to get in the way. Hiding behind a boulder he watched as the dragon whirled in the air, bugling its anger as it spotted the Dragonborn. Once again a flurry of arrows--Qa'Dojo and Durak were the masters of the bow here--flew up at the dragon, piercing its wings, hitting its legs with amazing precision. 

Three others burst from the edge of the forest; Cullen did a double-take as he watched them join the fight. All three were mages, and they were, all three, impossibly-tall elves in shiny golden armor. Altmer elves, like Pel? Fire, lightning and even ice pelted the dragon as it roared its fury, its tail slashing as it flew over them. 

He could see Pel not far from him; again, she held her sword, but at her side. Waiting.  The dragon flew to her.

“FUS RO DAH!!!”

The air itself exploded as Pel called forth the shout. Dust and debris and fading sparks filled the air, making Cullen choke. He wiped his eyes, trying to see what was happening. The dragon rolled head over heels, as he had done, and fell to the ground. It tried to rise into the air again but its wings were ripped, and arrows and scorch marks covered its flanks. 

“Gaan Lah Haas,” Pel said in that language that filled the world. She stepped toward the thrashing dragon, shaking her head and stepping back as it lurched forward, massive jaws snapping. 

He found himself stepping out from behind the rocks where he’d been watching, just as Lucien did; the lad had not been fighting, but was furiously taking notes down in his journal. 

Varric definitely would love this kid.

“Did you see that? Isn’t that amazing?” Lucien said, grinning.

“Definitely amazing. Where is she?” Cullen asked, twisting around. 

“There!” Lucien pointed with his pen. Cullen half turned, and saw her. Pel had moved off to the side, but slightly behind him, calling the dragon’s attention away from the archers. “The Dragonborn approached the mighty felled dragon, eyes glinting, her sword at her side as her brave Companions cheered her to Shout the dragon into Oblivion…”

He wanted to grin at Lucien’s storytelling, and would have had he not locked eyes with Pel. Any encouraging words he might have given fell away when he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes.

She doesn’t want to do this?

“Pel?” He stepped toward her, hoping Lucien wouldn’t follow. 

She raised her hand, stopping him. “Don't, Commander. I must.” 

She turned away from him, wiping her hand across her face and charged for the dragon, leaving him behind. The same shout as before rent the air, this one almost knocking him to the ground. He stared at Pel and the dragon as it slumped in front of her, its eyes whirling in agony. She stepped slowly toward it and then sheathed her sword. The final Shout that tore from her Cullen was ready for; the dragon was not. 

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”

The dragon’s body lifted off the ground, and it lashed its tail in its death throes before slamming back down again, the flesh on its body ripping apart. Bile rose in Cullen’s throat; he had never seen such power, such horror as the dragon finally stilled.

All grew still. Not a bird, not an insect, nothing disturbed the silence. Pel stood not victorious, but as one defeated as she stared at the dragon, head bowed, the hand at her side clenched into a fist. 

He wanted to go to her. He needed to understand why she had done this when it was so clear she would gladly have turned away. He took two steps forward, about to call her name when Qa'Dojo stopped him, a clawed hand on his arm. Confused, and not a little frustrated Cullen turned to demand release, when Qa'Dojo shook his head. 

“She is not yet done. Watch. Step back with me”

Cullen glanced back at Pel; she had not moved. He did as Qa'Dojo asked. He had promised Pel he’d stay out of the way, after all. 

It began as a small ribbon of light, golden-bright like the rays of the sun. The ribbon began to weave around the dragon’s body, joined quickly by others. Dozens of the ribbons appeared over the next few minutes, the light they cast bright enough to make Cullen wince, the whirl of winds they caused buffeting him and the others back a few steps.

Only Pel stood her ground. Then she stepped forward into the light.

Cullen watched, both worried and mesmerized as Pel--the Dragonborn now in all ways--lifted her empty hands toward the dragon. As the ribbons grew in size and fury, the dragon’s hide began to shift and change--moments later it caught fire and burned quickly until only bones were left. Then, Cullen did cry out in shock as the ribbons flew to Pel, engulfing her in so much light he had to shield his eyes against the intensity. 

A booming chorus of echoes--Cullen would later swear it sounded like chanting--filled the air and then…

All fell silent. The lights were gone. The dragon was naught but bone and Pel stood alone, her chest heaving as she stared at was left of her foe. 

Qa'Dojo had not let Cullen go. He did now, nodding at Cullen as he went to Pel, and put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against the Khajit; Cullen watched, the desire to be the one she leaned on a whisper of longing he could not dispel. Then Qa'Dojo left her to stare down at the dragon's skull.

“Breathtaking, wasn’t it?” Lucien whispered, his voice heavy with awe. “She now owns the dragon’s soul.”

Cullen looked up Lucien. “What do you mean?”

“She’s the Dragonborn. When she slays each dragon, its soul transfers to her and she learns more of the dragon language. It is all very mysterious and complicated. She won’t really talk about it,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “I think it hurts her, maybe."

Lucien walked up to the dragon then and Cullen followed, stopping a few feet behind Pel.  She sighed, then turned away from him, her gaze flicking his way so quickly he almost missed it.  She shook her head, then walked toward her horse, her head down, her steps slow and deliberate as if she were lost in thought. Pel swung up into the saddle. She sat motionless a long moment before urging her horse back on the road, past him and Lucien, past the dragon bones without looking up.

Cullen watched her go, wishing he could do something, anything to help her, but it was not his place. Or maybe, not yet. You’re right, Lucien. She is in pain, but not, I believe, how you think. 

Chapter Text

From the narrow cot that was his bed for the night, Cullen looked out the window up at the twin moons. They were magnificent, massive, and very bright. With a sigh, he got up and closed the shutters, his thoughts turning not to the sleep he should be trying to get, not even to the Inquisitor and how to find her and get them both home, but to Pel and what he had witnessed after she’d slain the dragon. 

It promised to be a long, sleepless night. 

They’d arrived close to midnight at a village the name of which Cullen couldn’t remember. Pel had not said much to anyone as they put away their horses, then headed for the town’s inn which mercifully had rooms available. Pel made sure he had his own, for which he was grateful; he hadn’t relished the thought of sharing with Lucien. 

Pel had eaten her stew in silence and the others, apparently well-used to her wish to be left alone after slaying a dragon, kept their talking to a minimum. Even Lucien. 

That the inn had baths was a welcome surprise to Cullen. That there was more than one tub in the room not so much, but at least the others--or perhaps just Qa’Dojo and Durak--had decided Cullen would be afforded privacy, and made Lucien wait.

“You captive in a tub, at the mercy of the chatterbox? We wouldn’t do that to you, Commander,” Durak said. Lucien had wisely not protested.

Pel of course went first. 

They’d then retired for the night, all of them weary from the long day. Lucien had dragged off to a room opposite Cullen’s, and the other two headed up the stairs over Lucien, entering the same room, Qa’Dojo’s hand on the Orc’s shoulder. 

Now he was in the room assigned to him, his clothes folded neatly on a small table, wearing only his smalls. He still did not have his sword, and wasn’t even sure where it was. He would be sore indeed if something happened to it. He pulled the covers back and slid between the rough blankets, and tried to focus on what he should be focusing on--how to find Saphielle. 

That lasted two seconds. 

Pel was just above him. She’d bid him goodnight, her voice weary, and trudged up the stairs. At the top she’d turned and looked down at him, and flashed a soft smile that--he had to acknowledge now--plunged straight to his heart. And...groin. While he had prepared for bed quickly--he was about to fall asleep on his feet after all--she moved about her room, her boots slightly shaking the ceiling above him as she paced. 

Finally, she stopped, and he heard first one boot then another fall. He tried not to imagine her removing her armor--that was not proper--but his body had other thoughts on that matter. His mind insisted on ruminating what he knew about his captor. 

Pel was an elf, but nothing like any elf in Thedas. She was almost as tall as he, for one thing. An Altmer elf, rare in Skyrim, Lucien had said. Cullen wondered why. 

She was also strong, stronger than any elf he’d ever met, male or female. A warrior, there was nothing truly delicate about her except her smile. His past affairs with women--few as he’d had--were primarily with elves or, in a case or two, overly-pampered human nobles. Pel was nothing like what usually attracted him to a woman which, he thought with some surprise, made him all the more intrigued by her. 

He wanted to get to know her better. He wanted to… He wanted her. 

Maker’s breath, he was a fool. Nevermind his promise to Rylen. 

I’m serious though, sir. You deserve happiness. 

Did he? Could he? Should he? He’d promised Rylen he’d try someday, which of course meant nothing. Why was he even considering there was a possibility with Pel? He was in another world, for Maker’s sake. He needed to find the Inquisitor and get back home. Where he belonged. And soon, before Corypheus figured out that Saphielle was missing and came hunting for her. 

He had no right to even think of Pel as anyone other than a means to finding Saphielle, and getting them both home. 

And yet… Heat pooled in his groin despite the exhaustion that pulled at him. He was warm and full and lonely as hell. Every little squeak of floorboards above him jerked him back from drifting off. 

And every jolt further awakened his desire. 

He slid his hand down under the covers, beneath his smalls to slowly stroke his half-hard cock, stifling back a betraying moan; he dare not do more than that lest he make the floorboards squeak. Or the bed. Yet he could not stop his hand, nor his thoughts from wandering, and wondering. It’d been a long, long time since he’d last allowed his thoughts to drift in such a way. It’d been too painful as they usually drifted to Saphielle, and the last time he’d made love to her. 

It wasn’t Saphielle--delicate, beautiful, ethereal Saphielle--who drifted in his mind now, making his heart quicken, his hand stroke more firmly. It was a hardened warrior who didn’t need anyone to take care of her, but whose haunted eyes in turn haunted him. 

He needed this release. Get it done and go to sleep. That’s what he would do. Nevermind the object--no, the person of his fantasy lay directly above him…

A thump overhead made Cullen suck in his breath. He held still--save for his cock which protested the sudden lack of hand action--and gulped when he heard the distinct sounds of footsteps, and a door opening and closing, and the footsteps trotting down the stairs. Maybe she was going out? Get a breath of fresh air?  

She knocked on his door. Maker. Cullen debated--pretend he was asleep? Except he wasn’t. And he couldn't. She’d come to him, why? 

He had to know why. 

He glanced quickly at his clothes but another knock followed by, “Commander? Cullen?” had him cursing inwardly. At least he still had his smalls on, though he strained against them. He didn’t think that would resolve itself in the next two seconds, either. He grabbed the blanket and wrapped it low around his waist. 

“Coming--” he called out, then winced, his face and ears and Maker’s breath , his entire body flaming as he unbolted the door. “What can I help you with--” he started to say as he opened the door, clutching the blanket firmly about him. “ Pel? ” he said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. 

Dressed in her armor still, though her feet bare, she held a candle in one hand, its flame flickering. In her other she held his sword, safe in its scabbard. Again, her height caught him by surprise; face to face, both with bare feet, she almost looked him in the eye. She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow as she looked at him, her gaze drifting over his bare chest.

“I-- Uh-- Well. Hello, Pel. Are you--you have my sword?”

She glanced down past his chest at the tightly-clutched blanket around his hips, lingering there --his face and neck, ears, shoulders, everything, burned even more brightly. Probably didn’t even need a candle to light the room. 

It truly was a defensive move, his stepping back, but when she immediately came in he realized that said defensive move was viewed as an invitation for her to enter.

Pel pushed the door closed, then held out his sword. “I do. I think it is not necessary to keep you unarmed, any longer.” 

“Thank you,” he said, slightly breathless as he took it. His fingers brushed against hers as he did so. He couldn’t stop his reaction to her touch, the sizzling cartwheels of desire rushing through him, the slight intake of his breath.

Maker, if she couldn’t see he wanted her… 

He was such a fool. He clutched the blanket tighter and leaned the sword next to the door. He nearly lost his blanket at that, and sat abruptly on the bed.

“Now that you know how I fight dragons, I mean. You know what to do.”

“Pel, I-- Well. Yes of course. Stay out of the way.” That made her smile. Say what you want to say! “Are you well? I heard you pacing upstairs.”

She glanced up at the ceiling, then down at him. He realized he was at quite the disadvantage, both in position and attire.

Maker.

“Oh. I did keep you awake. I am sorry.”

“It wasn’t you keeping me awake.” Not true, of course. “Would you care to sit down?” He gestured to the table and its single chair. “Not much else to offer. I’m sorry.” He glanced down at himself. “And I’m not exactly dressed for guests, but I’d--” He stopped, gulped, cursed himself as the inevitable flush started up again. “I’d like to talk to you anyway. If that is acceptable.”

She smiled at that, and set the candle on the table, pushing his clothes over so not to risk them catching fire. He appreciated her consideration. She took the single chair, and as she turned to face him he quickly adjusted his too-thin blanket, taking great care to make sure his, er, enthusiasm was properly hidden. 

Cullen hoped, hoped, hoped she could not see he was nervous, he was flushed, he was… 

He closed his eyes, shaking his head mentally at himself, except it wasn’t mentally. When he opened his eyes again, her own were a little wide. Even with only the candle’s light, they were beautiful. She was beautiful, her hair invitingly soft. He'd not paid much attention to her armor as of yet, but now he realized how it tightly encased her body, the slight curve of her breasts. His cock swelled even more at the realization. His hands itched to reach out, pull off that protective armor but his mouth was suddenly dry with longing. 

Maker’s breath. What am I doing?

“Cullen I hope I’m not--”

“Pel, I--” They both stopped. “You go first. I’m sorry.” He rubbed his hand over his face, dearly wishing he was dressed properly. “I am not good at this.”

She laughed, but instead of deepening his embarrassment, he found himself laughing too. “There is nothing to be sorry about. I wanted to say thank you. Not embarrass you.” Her gaze lingered on his bare chest. 

“I, uh, tend to blush easily.” Why had he said that? “Thank me for what?”

“For not saying anything about--” She gestured at her eyes. “What you saw before I killed the dragon. For understanding how hard it is for me to do what I must do.” She ran her fingers over his fur mantle then abruptly stood.

He was well-trained in manners, so, of course he stood when she did, finding himself as close to her as he’d yet been. He would’ve joked to ease his embarrassment, but the glimmer in her eyes stopped him.  

“You don't want to kill the dragons, do you.”

She clenched her fists. “No. I hate it.” She took a deep shuddering breath and turned from him. She started to pace, as she had above him. “No one understands how hard it is for me. Even Qa’Dojo, who has been with me since the beginning, doesn’t understand. He--they all--they all see the dragons as menaces that must be destroyed. And they are, I get that, they’re all here because they want to destroy us but they are also living creatures and intelligent and so beautiful.” She clenched her fists. “I hate it. I hate being the Dragonborn. I don't want this. I never wanted it. I never wanted this responsibility that was forced on me. But I can’t walk away. It is impossible. There is no one else.” She wrapped her arms around herself then looked up at him, her beautiful eyes filled with frustrated tears. “You do understand, don't you?” 

Cullen ached to tell her it would be alright but he couldn’t, could he? He didn’t know enough about this world, about her, about anything. He’d had a similar conversation with Saphielle, early in the days of the Inquisition. He’d wanted to help her, and couldn’t. But maybe he could Pel. Maybe this was why the Maker had sent him to her? If she rejected what comfort he could give her, then so be it. At least he could try, and tell Rylen he’d taken his advice though it would, without doubt, end in heartache. 

You have to leave.

He pushed away the deep ache in his chest that he feared would be with him for a lifetime. He stepped closer to her, brushed his fingers across her damp cheek; when she sucked in her breath but didn’t pull away, he cradled her neck, his thumb stroking her jawline. He paused, a little shocked at himself for daring to touch her. And yet, she did not pull away.

"If you wish me not to--"

"No." 

He sucked in his breath. “I do understand you get no joy out of killing them.” The relief in her eyes was worth any future heartache, he decided right then.  Elation emboldened him. “I understand very well being torn between duty, and desires. I mean, from what you want to do.”

She looked at him sharply. “You were a Templar, guarding mages from going bad, or whatever. What if they did? What do Templars have to do?”

He dropped his hand at that, running it through his unruly hair. “Every Templar knows their duty. If a mage ever chose to turn, and summoned a demon, they would die.”

“At the hands of a Templar.”

“Yes.”

“You have had to do this.”

“Yes.” He hadn’t dared to hesitate; he had, Maker he had, though thankfully never at a harrowing. “Kirkwall, where I served as Knight-Captain for many years, had a particular problem with that. But the problem was resolved, thankfully.”

“How? I know you touched on that, but not really. I’d like to know more about you. What you went through.” 

They were so close--even though he’d pulled his hand away, neither of them had moved. He could feel the air around them as if it were alive, churning and dancing over his bare skin; he could feel her breath on his skin, and his entire body ached to touch her. Never had he been so drawn to a woman like this. Never had he wanted, and damned if just thinking about it didn’t reawaken the throbbing in his groin. 

“It is a long story, but my Knight-Commander lost her mind to a demon.” Just thinking about it made him angry all over again. He breathed in, letting his breath out slowly. “I became Knight-Commander after she was gone. I made sure things changed. That mages didn’t feel forced to resort to blood magic, and were allowed to be treated as people.” The corner of his mouth lifted at the memories. “It was not easy, but when I left to join the Inquisition, it was going well.”

“So, not just mages are a danger, yet she saw it that way?”

He nodded. “Meredith, my Knight-Commander, was warped by fear.” Among other things.  Red lyrium was something he didn't want to explain right now. “She saw every mage as a danger when that wasn’t true. She sanctioned them heavily, which made them desperate, and desperation can lead to the worst of choices.”

Now Pel took a step back, and turned away. “That’s not unlike the dragons, I think. Dragons are dangerous, but most of them just fly around and don't attack but I have to kill them anyway. I have seen no signs that any of them are capable of enslaving humans, as happened in the past. But what if I am wrong? I could be wrong. The only dragon I would worry about, truly, is Paarthurnax, and he’s an ally.” 

His mind was awhirl with all she was telling him--hints of all he didn’t understand about this world. But now wasn’t the time for him to ask questions except for one. “Paarthurnax? He is a dragon?”

“Yes. He is my teacher, I guess is the easiest way to describe him. He helps me unlock the mysteries of the dragon language. I think he would like you. He advises me, but he is ancient, and can do no more than that.” She sighed. “The people look at me as their savior, Cullen. Most don't know or understand this isn’t just about killing dragons. It is far worse than that.”

“Who is Alduin?”

The question came out before he remembered that he had overheard her talking about him, had been eavesdropping which was quite unacceptable. 

“He is my Corypheus,” she said, her voice hushed, full of anguish and fear. “He is the cause of all this. He is why I am what I am, and to stop him, I probably will have to die.”

Cullen’s heart dropped. He couldn't breathe but the look on her face--she didn't need him to fall apart at that thought. He stepped toward her, touching her shoulder. “Pel. Why?”

She shrugged, then shook her head. “No. I shouldn’t have said that. It is not certain how I will cross to that realm, just that I must,” she said, though she seemed to be trying to reassure herself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to cry on your shoulder.” She wiped at her eyes, then she laid her hand on his, squeezing it lightly. “But thank you. I guess I should let you get some sleep.” She dropped her hand and moved away, toward the door.

“Don't go.” 

She stopped, yet still didn’t turn to him. “Are you sure?” she finally said.

Maker, was he. “I am sure.” She turned at that, eyes bright in the candlelight. Such beautiful eyes, impossible eyes of green and orange and gold. It was she, not him, who closed the distance between them, her eyes searching his. Whatever she saw there made her smile. He stepped closer to her, their bodies almost touching--the second those last few inches were crossed, she would know just how much he wanted her. 

She slid her hands up his arms as her lips met his, a soft, tentative brush of their lips. He reached up with his free hand to cradle her face, then the other as one hand wasn’t enough.  The blanket promptly fell to the ground.

He looked down, as did she. “Oh fuck,” he whispered as he stared at his erect cock straining against his smalls, making her laugh. Their eyes locked and he sighed. “I was not prepared for this.”

“And to think you command armies.”

“Not in a blanket though!”

“In smalls then?”

“No! I mean yes!” He pulled her against him, silencing her laughing. Soft, warm, inviting--she opened to him as she slid her arms around his shoulders, her hips aligned with his own. Maker, he loved that she was so tall, that she showed no reticence as she kissed him, pressed into him. He was so hard, throbbing between them, his heart racing as he deepened the kiss, pulling her tighter against him as he explored her mouth. Her perfect, amazing mouth.  She pulled back a little, then playfully nipped his lower lip. 

“Ow,” he said, sliding one hand down her back, wishing her armor was on the floor with his blanket. He chuckled, all his nervousness and embarrassment gone as he looked at her, studied her face, tracing the warrior paint he barely noticed now. It was just her. “I want you.”

“I gathered,” she said, then pulled back and pulled off her armor. In less than a minute she was down to her smalls. 

And then, those were gone too.  He stared in wonder as she stood naked before him; she was everything he had imagined, her body strong as a warrior’s would be, the muscles in her arms and stomach and legs well-defined. There was nothing soft about Pel; except for the look in her eyes.

“I want you.” He knew he had just said that but it bore repeating. “Pel, please--”

She came back to him then, her hands tugging at his smalls, her eyes dancing with hunger that he knew his matched. She tugged them down, kneeling as she did, easing them over his throbbing cock and aching balls. She looked up at him, that wicked grin back and he found himself groaning, unable to stop himself from thrusting slightly.  She deftly avoided his cock, her fingertips skidding down his thighs as she freed him from the last bit of his clothes. 

Then, without preamble, she took him in her mouth.

A loud groan of disbelief, pleasure, and keen desire burst from him as she sucked on the very tip, her tongue sliding and swirling around the head. A groan escaped him as she teased him with her teeth, looking up and grinning around his cock. The sight of her, doing that-- Maker!  He’d never been with a woman who knew how to do these things! 

Those dancing fingers returned, this time between his legs--he broadened his stance for her and she hummed around him in approval as she toyed with his balls, holding them, squeezing gently, rolling them expertly in her hand until his thighs began to tremble. 

“Maker’s breath, Pel. Pel, fuck. Fuck.”  

He wanted it. Wanted that hum back, wanted her to enjoy this as surely as he was and yet he wasn’t sure he could move.  He brushed her hair back so he could watch as she licked up the backside of his cock, her tongue darting out to stroke his slit. She took him back in her mouth, her questing fingers stroking his crack, toying where he definitely had never been played with before. The groan that escaped him as he shamelessly thrust into her mouth brought that incredible, pleased hum again. 

At last his knees buckled and she laughed, pushing him onto the bed. He fell back, his chest heaving, his body warm, so warm, too warm as she slid on top of him, wiggling so he would part his legs for her. She settled, laying her head on his shoulder and adjusting his cock so she was more comfortable. 

She fit him. Maker, how she fit him. She stretched along his length, entwining his legs with her own, her feet playing with his. He smiled and she grinned back, kissing him quickly on the chin. He slid his hands down her back, feeling and marveling at the muscles she had--she flexed under his touch, her mouth finding his neck and sucking on the skin, biting and nipping and sending marvelous, simply marvelous shivers down his entire body.

He turned his head to capture her mouth in a kiss and she angled herself up so she didn’t have to strain; he ran his hand over her backside, finally finding the softest part about her. He squeezed, making her yelp, and then she shifted again, moving her legs outside his hips, and straddling him.

“Pel,” he murmured. She shifted up, her hands cradling his face, the center of her heat poised over him. He groaned, canting his head back as she worked on his neck, kissing and sucking along his jaw, her tongue licking his ear lobe which made him laugh.

“Human, I am supposed to be the one with sensitive ears,” she murmured, sliding her tongue around the edge of his ear. He shuddered, gripping her hips, frozen under her ministrations. “Is that a thing in your world?”

“Yes-- It is-- Ah Pel, do that again.”

She obliged him, rocking into him--he slid his fingers around her backside, seeking and finding her slick warmth. She arched her back, pulling up and rutting against his fingers; he watched her face as he played with her clit, rubbing and stroking it, loving how she twisted against him, not in the least embarrassed by her pleasure. She closed her eyes, the tips of her breasts--small, perfect--brushed against his chest. He pulled her higher so he could suck on one and she held herself up, dropping her head to watch him and letting her hair cascade around them both. She touched his face, his scar, tracing it with her fingers that smelled like her-- oh, Maker.  She smelled and tasted so damn good. 

She pulled him off her breast, and looked into his eyes. They were both breathing heavily, and he could hardly lay still, sliding his leg up and back down again on the too-small cot. Her smile was gentle. Loving.  

“Take me, Cullen,” she whispered. “I want you, too.”

He did so. Hands gripping her hips he pulled her up, loving that she reached back and took him in hand, guiding him inside her. As she slowly sank down on him, her eyes never left his. Her eyes, he thought, were a window into a world he desperately wanted to belong to. A world with her in it, with no danger, no obligations--no fucking duty--to separate them.

But that was not to be. Not for them. Her eyes softened at what she saw pass across his face and she shook her head, touching his lips with her finger. “Not now. This time is for us. The world--our worlds--can wait.”

He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut as she settled on him, wiggling to find that contact she needed.  He groaned at her tightness, little sparks of heat blossoming into waves of pleasure. “Sweet Maker, Pel, fuck, Holy Sweet Maker--” 

She covered him, chest to chest, licking his ear again. “Who is this Maker of yours, anyway?” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“The one I will thank every day of the rest of my life for leading me to you. I want you in my life forever. I will never let you go.”

She stilled. “Cullen--”

Oh fuck. He stopped moving, his body flushing with embarrassment and regret. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said such a thing, I presume too much--”

“Cullen.” He swallowed, ready to pull out, apologies dancing on his lips. But the words he expected from her never came. Instead she cradled his face and kissed him with a fierceness that left him gasping for breath, her fingertips digging into his hair almost painfully. She rocked with him, her kisses hard, demanding, needy.

His fears forgotten, he answered her back, meeting her every kiss with one of his own. He held her face between his hands now, covering her mouth, her chin, even her eyes with desperate kisses as she ground down onto him. 

The build of heat between them was lightning fast--too fast. “I wish this could last forever, I’m close,” he murmured. “I’m sorry--” If he knew her body better--when he knew her body better--he would be able to pace himself more easily, for her. But that would come, he would make sure of it. This wouldn’t be the first and last time for them. 

He brushed her hair back, and she smiled--a wicked smile. But he was too far gone to stop moving. “ Tiid ul neh,” she whispered. “Tiid ul neh, slen. ” 

“What--” he said, the single word roiling slowly out of his mouth. He breathed in, his eyes widening as the small corner of the harsh room tempered, slowed. Every movement he made, that Pel made, lengthened, deepened. Softened, somehow. A smiled played on her lips, her eyes dancing with pleasure, then slowly her eyelids closed and she rolled her head to the side, a whisper of a moan escaping her.

Cullen stilled, mesmerized as a strand of her hair floated down as if on a breeze. He moved his hand up to touch her and it seemed to take forever before his fingertips reached her face, touched the corner of her mouth, ran across the softness of her lips. 

Deep inside her heat roiled, the pressure as she squeezed him rhythmic, steady, but tender and slow--everything was slow. 

“Those words,” he whispered, his own drifting out from him and flying away. 

“Magic. A moment becomes more.”

He should’ve--and in the past would’ve--felt a measure of fear at this unknown magic she’d used on him, but he knew she’d done it for him. Somehow, she’d slowed not just their movements, the building of release, but time itself; even the candle’s flame was more wave than a flicker.

All his senses synced with hers. His breathing, his movement, the slowly building rush of pleasure as forehead to forehead now, the pressure increased. What would’ve taken no more than a few seconds--he was so ready--now stretched and turned into a sinuous, timeless thing. Every part of her touching him was melded into him, completed him. 

If he died right now, he’d die a happy man.

He gripped her hips, pushing hard into her, wanting to sink into her somehow, make it forever but the magic began to wisp away. She cried out, and it took him a second to realize she was coming; it only took one, two more thrusts of his own before he joined her. He wrapped his arms tight around her as his cock pulsed deep within her; she clamped down hard on him, and they rocked together, their sweat-slick bodies riding the waves.

Neither moved. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think beyond the woman he held in his arms, in whom he was so tightly buried. Never had he thought when he first saw her that this would happen. That he found what he wanted, more than anything in the world--in two worlds, he reminded himself--that he ever wanted, was right here with him now.

It was some time before she pulled herself off him, but she made no move to leave, seemed to care nothing about the mess he’d made. Instead she snuggled into his arms, closing her eyes. Reaching behind them Cullen managed to grab the blanket and pull it over them both. As she fell asleep, her breath evening out, both their bodies cooling, Cullen held her, and closed his eyes.

For now, he would keep his promise to her. For now, for this night at least, he wouldn’t worry about tomorrow, how little time they likely had together, how unlikely he would ever see her again after he and the Inquisitor returned home.

Home.

“What is home,” he whispered into the darkened room, just as the candle sputtered out. Home was, he realized, right here with Pel in his arms. 

Chapter Text

Cullen woke, his entire body aching. He blinked at the ceiling, trying to figure out several things at once: where he was, what he had done to himself, what he should be doing…

Where was Pel?

It took a half second to search the room and realize she was gone. Gone. With a sigh he ran his hands over his face, wishing there was water to dump over his head. He sat up quickly, too quickly, making his shoulder catch. After the tumbles he’d taken and a full day in the saddle he shouldn’t be surprised he hurt a bit. And, of course, what had come after. He rubbed it, wincing as he did so. It’d been ages since he’d been tight in the shoulders and he hadn’t missed it one wit.

He and Pel had had sex. What was he thinking? How would he face her? Why had she left, unless she regretted what they had done? 

He didn’t regret a thing.

Cullen flopped back down in the bed, then heard the murmur of voices. Above all, he heard Pel’s lilting laugh, her voice easily carrying through the rough-hewn door. 

Had anyone heard them last night? Maker, he hoped not. He should get up, get dressed and go out there and face her, face her friends. Did they know? Had she told them? Would she be upset with him?'

A knock on his door. “Cullen? You awake? Everyone else is eating already.”

Hope rushed through him; that laugh still edged her words. He pulled the covers up to his chest. And, closed his eyes. She pushed open the door and came in. 

“Oh no, this is not possible. You’re still asleep?” she whispered, and he felt the weight of her on the bed. And then, she straddled his chest, making his eyes shoot open with an oomph. “There you are,” she said softly, her eyes amused. She looked like she at least had plenty of sleep. 

He grumbled, wrinkling his nose which made her laugh. 

How he loved her laugh. 

She was dressed, of course, but not in her armor--that would’ve been painful indeed on him. Instead she wore brown leather breeches, a loose shirt tucked into the waistband, and simple boots. His hands moved to her hips; his cock surged to life as she wiggled on him. She grinned, seeing the arousal in his eyes. She ran her fingers through his hair, tugging at his curls as if she’d done this a thousand times. 

“Now I know you’re awake. You okay?”

Pel. Beautiful, amazing Pel. With those words--and the weight of her on top of him, perched like she was quite at home there--everything suddenly was very okay. “Sore.” He scowled a little. 

“Mmm, I bet.” 

“Not from that! Maker. From falling down a hill, twice, being blasted by a most remarkable woman, sleeping with Lucien plastered against me--he fidgets worse than a mabari--and riding all day.” 

“Lucien is a snuggler. I should’ve warned you. But what is a mabari?”

“War dog. Very big dog. And quite intelligent. I have always wanted one, and intend to have one once Corypheus is beaten.” Damn. He shouldn’t have brought that up, not now. “I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s fine.” She bent over and kissed his chin. “Prickly. No regrets?” she whispered.

He drew in his breath, studying her as she pulled back, the question hovering in her eyes. He cupped her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb and damned if he didn’t feel the biggest, deepest swell of  pure longing sweep through him. 

He wanted this woman. Not only that, he wanted her forever. The thought that he couldn’t have what he wanted hurt. She didn’t need that, though. Not now. 

“I will never regret you.” 

“Me either, you.” She brushed her lips over his then sat up again, trailing one calloused finger over his face, trickling down his scar to touch his lips. “Cullen, we need to talk. Don't look at me like that, it’s okay,” she said, smiling again. Still, he’d heard that before and it scared him and he supposed his wariness showed. We need to talk. Saphielle had prefaced her breaking up with him like that. 

This was different. He was sure of it. One didn’t sit on one’s lover’s chest to break it off with them. 

“I know,” he finally settled on, not hiding the sadness that weighed upon him. 

She glanced toward the door. “I’ve set Lucien off to ask around the village about your Inquisitor. If she’s been through here, he’ll ferret out whoever saw her or maybe even talked to her. But I wanted to talk to you before we go out there, join the others together.” She smiled impishly. “And yes, they know, if you are wondering. Apparently, these walls are pretty thin, and we’re both vocal. Except I don't really remember us being that vocal?”

He groaned at that. “They aren’t going to punch me in the face, are they?”

“No. Of course not, though you can expect a squeal or two from Lucien.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s such a romantic at heart, I swear. You don't have to answer any of his questions if you don't want to. Anyway.” She took a deep breath, shifting on him so she could lay her head on his shoulder. He ran his hand up and down her back as she buried her face in his neck and breathed in. “You smell like sex.”

He laughed. “I suppose I do. Pel, what is on your mind?” 

“Can I just lay here a bit? Need nap.”

A tangle of emotions caught in his throat. How he adored this woman! She was fierce and forthright, yet there was a sweetness to her he hadn’t seen around the others. He tightened his grip on her, kissing the top of her head. She snaked her hand up his neck, turning his face to kiss him lightly on the lips but he let it go no further.

“Talk to me.”

She nodded, then sat up, brushing her hair back and taking his hands in her own. They were surprising soft, for a warrior, but he supposed she mostly used her magic to fight. This was hard for her, he realized, but he felt no fear dance through him, only protectiveness. 

“Lucien babbles a lot and I am glad because he told you things I am glad you know already because I want this. I want you. But I am the Dragonborn, Cullen.” She shook her head. “And you the Commander of your Inquisition. We might find your Inquisitor today. It might be tomorrow or a week from now, I don't know. And then you will leave. You have to leave. Duty calls.” She smiled sadly. “For us both.”

He nodded at that. “We are close to battling Corypheus. The Inquisition has succeeded in weakening him considerably. Our forces are ready and prepared to launch as soon as he is located, and the Inquisitor is as prepared as she can be for this. Except for the fact that we are here, not there.”

“One tiny elf against a monster?”

He smiled at that. “She is small, but she holds a powerful magic that can destroy him. He knows this, and he wants it for himself. It won’t be much longer, I don't believe. Then I can come back--”

She stopped him. Oh Maker, she stopped him, shaking her head. “No, Cullen. You can’t.”

And the world crashed down on him, smothering him in despair unlike any he’d felt before. “I don't want to lose you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. 

“I don't want to lose you either but this you must know, must understand. I can’t have you here.” Her voice hardened and her entire body tensed, stilling his further arguments. That fierce, don't-mess-with-me look--eyes blazing within the warrior’s mask she wore--was back. 

“I would fight by your side,” he whispered.He couldn’t imagine not being there for her. Again she shook her head, again traced his face with light fingers, though the hardness had not dimmed. 

“No. Alduin would use you against me, Cullen. He would take you from me, rip you apart piece by piece unless I give myself to him. He must not know about you.”

“How would he? Does he know where you are now?”

“Not at the moment, no.” She touched her chest. “I keep a constantly-running spell of protection  going, drawing on the dragon souls within me. I can keep it up for now, but I am unsure for how long. I care about you, Cullen Rutherford.” The corner of her mouth quirked up but the haunted look was in her eyes once more. “Probably more than I should, given you only recently barreled into my life.” She drew in her breath. “What I have to do, I have to do alone. Knowing you are in another world, safe from him, that’s… I need that. If I thought for a minute you were in danger because of me… I would falter. I must not falter.”

“I would give you my strength,” he said, taking her hand. 

“And I will have it.” Pulling their entwined fingers to her lips, she kissed his knuckles. “It will not be lessened from the distance between us.” He squeezed her fingers tight for a moment, then nodded. She was, of course, correct. 

She slid down on top of him, stretching out. He turned on his side to face her, kicking his way out of the covers so his legs could entwine with hers. His throat tightened but despite the dismay he felt he knew she was right. He would do this, for her. What she needed was more important than his own hopes and desires. She was, after all, in far more danger from her nemesis than he was; it would be Saphielle, not he who battled Corypheus. He could still die of course, and would if the Inquisitor failed, but was determined that would not happen. 

“Then that is the role I will play for you. However I may best serve it.”

“You do understand, don't you?” 

“Yes. I wouldn’t be the Commander today if I didn’t comprehend the importance of duty not one’s own. And that it is yours?” He smiled at her. “I am here for you, whether physically or not. That is my duty.” 

As the one who loves you, he mentally added, the thought shocking him. Could he? Could he love her, after mere hours together? Refusing to deny the possibility, he kissed her nose to cover his momentary confusion and surprise.  

She sighed. “I’m kind of hating that word. Duty. Can we ban it once this is over?” He chuckled at that. “I need to stop dragging my feet, and do what needs to be done to find him. I don't know how long it will take, I don't know if I will be successful, but when it is over, can I come find you in your world? See if once we are both boring, normal people if we can have something together?”

“Yes. oh Maker yes. I would love that.” He stroked her cheek, smiling when she turned just enough to kiss his fingers. “I too have things that I must do. My-- obligation is to the Inquisition, and to Thedas. But after that, I will be free to do what I want. Where I want, and with who I want. I want that to be with you.”

She smiled brilliantly at him then she sobered. “Where will I find you? Will I be able to?”

“The eluvian I came through leads to a place called the Crossroads. There are hundreds of eluvians in a great hall but I’ll make sure you can find the one that leads to Skyhold.  I should still be there, but if not I’ll be, no doubt, visiting my sister, Mia. I promised her after all was over I’d come visit, and I don't dare disobey her.” She would like Pel, he knew it. Oh the thought of that meeting! It would be wonderful if it happened. It had to happen. “I’d leave word of where to find me. I promise.”

“It is decided then.” She pressed her forehead against his cheek. “We know what we must do, and what we will do. I don't want to talk about it again.” She pulled back so she could look into his eyes. “However long we have left together here, whether it is a day or a week or a month, I want to be happy. I want us to have fun and just--” She gestured with her hand at them. “I just want to be with you as much as I can.” She smiled. “I like you, Cullen Rutherford. I may even marry you someday.”

Her words should’ve shocked him, but after his private revelation moments earlier he nodded, brushing her hair back from his face. “I said it last night, but I mean this--I thank the Maker, or fate, or even Saphielle’s hard-headedness for bringing me to you.”

“Is it possible to just know? So soon?” 

His heart soared. She feels the same! “This is no fairytale, or one of Varric’s books, but damned if it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Varric?”

“One of the Inquisitor’s companions. A friend. He’s a dwarf, and a writer.”

“I’d like to meet him!”

“I’d like that too.”

She took his hand and kissed it, rubbing it across her face. “We should get going, I think.” She slid off him, then sat on the chair. As he pulled himself out of the bed he winced. “Lucien will have a potion that may help that,” she said as he stretched. “And I can help with the rest, tonight.”

Her eyes prowled his body as he rolled his neck, then looked for his smalls. He walked over to where they lay on the floor. As he bent over to pick them up, she was behind him, lightning-quick. “Hey,” he laughed as she snatched them from him, smacking him on the backside before darting back. He whirled on her, an unexpected lightheartedness filling him as she laughed and danced away from him. 

But he was faster than maybe she’d suspected--he swooped on her, not grabbing for the smalls but instead catching her, and pressing her against the door. “Got you.”

“So you do.” She eyed him, still grinning--and held the smalls out at arm’s length. “And I’ve still got your smalls.”

“I could go without. Done it before.” Then her free hand wrapped around him, and she squeezed his backside, making him yelp. “Not fair. You aren’t naked.”

Pel grinned, her gaze falling on his lips. “My lips are.”

That was all the invitation he needed. Pressing her body against the door, he bent his head to kiss her. With a soft moan as their lips met she rested her small-holding hand on his shoulder. He lost himself in the kiss, firmly battering down the persistent worries and fears and concerns. 

Breaking free, she smiled at him, and kissed his nose. “I rather like that you are short.”

“What? I am not short! You are tall,” he said, kissing her again, and pulling his smalls from her grasp. 

“You are short compared to Altmer men, and Imperials, though perhaps not Nords. Still look like a Nord though.” She stepped back, allowing him room to less-than-gracefully pull his smalls on. “But definitely prettier naked.”

He groaned, shaking his head. “You.”

“What?” she said, blinking at him innocently.

He huffed, then stepped to the table to grab his trousers. He’d just pulled them on when someone pounded on the door. “Pel! Commander!”

“Lucien?” he said, tying his laces and reaching for the door. He pulled it open and Lucien all but tumbled in. 

Wide-eyed, Lucien stared at him, at his bare chest and half-laced breeches, and turned bright red, rivaling even Cullen’s blushing. “I uh, sorry, Commander, sorry Pel I know you said not to interrupt when you were with him, together I mean, but I found someone who saw her! Your Inquisitor!”

“Who?” Pel demanded, coming around Cullen and handing him his shirt. 

He yanked it on. “They saw her? When? How long ago?” He grabbed his stockings and boots and sat on the rumpled bed to yank them all on. 

Lucien stared at the rumpled bed, his blush rising. Pel had grabbed his armor and started to help him with it. Lucien watched them for a moment, his eyebrows raising. 

Perhaps, Cullen thought as he strapped on his sword, the lad hadn’t quite understood whatever Pel had said about them.

“Lucien. What did they say?”

“Oh. Oh! So sorry, I was--distracted.”

“Lucien,” Pel said, her voice full of warning. 

“Lettie over at the stables. She said, well, she will be here in a moment to talk to you. Both of you. To talk to you. Um, yes.” He looked at the door. “I should go now. Wait for her, yes.”

Pel watched him dart out the door. “I don't think he understood what I meant about us being together until now. I used to think he had a crush on me, but then he met Elian." She tapped her lips with one finger. "I think, though, he might have developed a crush on you. ”

“What? Pel. No. I-- No. Who is Elian?’

“My cousin. Come on, let’s talk with the others while we wait for Lettie.”

"I'll be there in just a moment. I need to, uh..."  He gestured to the screen hiding what served as water chambers here.

"Ah, I see." She pulled open the door and went out, stopping and poking her head back into the room. "It's much easier outdoors, isn't it? At least for boys."  

Life with Pel would never be dull, he thought as he laced his trousers and then ran his fingers through his hair. There was no hope for the tangled mess, especially after the night before. He was glad there weren't mirrors in this place; his curls were completely out of control and there was nothing he could do about it.  The inn was much livelier at this time of day--whatever time it was. Morning? Noon? He was hungry, and thirsty, that was for certain. Lucien sat at a table, eating something that made Cullen's mouth water. He wondered if it was mammoth stew. He quite liked it.  Pel, Durak and Qa'Dojo were talking amongst themselves. 

Qa'Dojo bowed at his approach. “Good morning, Commander. This Khajit is pleased to get you some food. No doubt you have worked up an appetite after...yesterday.” He slid away, winking at Cullen as he passed.  Cullen huffed, then turned his attention to a young woman who wore tan trousers and boots, a pale yellow shirt and a dark leather apron. A blacksmith?

“Commander, this is Lettie,” Pel said. 

Lettie nodded at him. “You asked about the elf. Tiny thing,” she said, then gestured toward the table. “Traded me this for a horse.”

Cullen moved around Pel so he could see what Lettie had laid on the table. It was a cloak--a rich, white cloak of ice wolf fur that Saphielle had treasured. 

“Is it hers?” Pel asked.

“Yes.” He picked it up, the thick fur soft and bulky in his hands. To Lettie he said, “Did you see which way she went? What time did she leave here?” He handed it back to the woman, vaguely wondering what use she would have of it.  

“Left last night. Told her she could stay with me but she said she had no time to waste. She asked where to find a village with lots of books that had a mage in residence. She didn’t know the name of the village or the mage. Showed her a map, and she tapped Morthal.”

“Morthal. What’s in Morthal? It’s just a fishing village,” Lucien said. “Hardly a place of education.”

“Falion?” Pel said, looking at Durak.

“Possible. Probable. What he could tell her, I do not know. Perhaps she’s gone to him to help get into Winterhold”

Qa’Dojo appeared then, and handed Cullen something in wrapped linen. “So you may eat while we ride.” 

“Thank you. Who is this Falion?” he asked. 

Lucien said, “Oh, I know! He has a museum there. He used to teach in Winterhold. It’s impossible to get in unless you know someone. Or are a mage.”

“You are a mage,” Qa’Dojo said. “More or less.”

Lucien puffed up but Cullen interrupted. “How far is it from here? Maybe we can catch her.”

“She won’t reach there until sometime this afternoon,” Pel said. “She has a good nine hour lead on us, depending on which route she went.” 

Why had Saphielle traveled during the night? If she had just waited here, for morning, they would have found each other. 

And then, he and Pel would never have found each other as they had. He glanced up, watching her face--it was unreadable. She had to know what he was thinking and that made him ache with regret. 

“The Inquisitor is known for her inability to sleep so I am not surprised she pushed onward. Bull complained of it often enough.”

Pel nodded, looking somewhat relieved.  “I’ll show you where Morthal is.” Pel walked quickly into the room beside Cullen’s. He followed. Within was a large table rivaling the one in Skyhold, on which a map with red and blue flags had been set on each city, round stones holding the map in place. 

“This is Skyrim,” she said, glancing at Cullen and reaching for his hand, pulling her beside him. She did not let go. The others took places around its perimeter.  “We are here,” she said, pointing at a sign that said Falkreath. So, he could even read the language here. “And here is Morthal.” She pulled her hand from Cullen’s, but now they stood side-by-side, close enough he could feel her warmth in the chilly room. “Durak, you and Qa’Dojo will take the route to Morthal past Whiterun. Cullen, Lucien, and I will go to Solitude.”

Cullen frowned, staring at the map and the roads indicated. It would be a much longer ride to Solitude. “I’d prefer to go directly to Morthal. It is possible we could still catch her before she gets there.”

Pel shook her head, still staring at the map. “No. Qa’Dojo and Durak are less likely to be stopped by bandits, or worse.” She looked at him pointedly. He understood.  “Qa’Dojo, send a courier once you get there, or if you find her. Or if you don't. Your Inquisitor, if she went that way, chose poorly, Cullen. Can she truly take care of herself?”

Cullen sighed. Saphielle was a capable mage, but her Anchor would be of no use here. “I honestly am not sure. She usually traveled with her companions to watch over her. Alone? In a strange land, unknown dangers?” He looked at the two men. “I trust that you will do your best. She may need you even now.”

Pel said, “Does she know you followed her?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Cullen hesitated. Had she seen him? “I talked to her right before she stepped through the eluvian, but I can’t say if she saw me follow her. If she had, I think she would’ve waited for me on this side.” Maybe. Saphielle had been blinded by her grief and fury at Solas. 

Qa’Dojo bowed. “Then this Khajit and his mate will leave, with the Dragonborn’s permission.”

“Go. And take care of yourselves, hear? Let me know whatever you find, as soon as you can.”

“Will you wait in Solitude for word?”

She nodded. “We will stay with Auryen, and enlist his help to find the eluvian. If you don't find her on the way, or in Morthal, we may need his help.  Lucien, please go saddle our horses for us. We ride at once.” 

The Khajit nodded at Cullen and followed by Durak and Lucien, left them. Once they were alone, she slid into his arms. Cullen held her, dropping his head to her shoulder, a whirling sea of emotions stabilized by her warmth.

Finally, she pushed him back, but did not let him go as she looked at the map again. “If she took the way past Whiterun, which is likely as it is a shorter path, I truly worry for her. But I trust my men. If she is out there, they will find her. I promise.” 

She looked up at him then, her eyes showing her concern, and her worry. He was certain that they mirrored his own. 

Chapter Text

Cullen would never forget the first time he saw Skyhold. They’d been traveling on foot for weeks--weeks that felt like months--when the murmurs of excitement, followed by cheers, reached him at the back of the line. He, Bull, and Dorian kept to the back with the stragglers, making sure the sick and injured didn’t get left behind. After nearly losing so many in Haven, almost losing Saphielle, and after Ser Roderick died from his horrific injuries, it had been his personal mission to make sure they lost no one else.

When he and the last of the survivors crossed that final hill and Skyhold appeared before them, he’d understood the cheers. It was magnificent, its towers stretching toward the sky, part of the sky. Nestled in an impossible place in a hidden valley as it was, he’d been breathless with wonder. 

He felt the same now, as he sat on his horse next to Pel and stared up, up, up into the sky at the magnificent city that clung on top of a towering arch, looking as if it had been carved from the very stone.

“Solitude,” Pel said, happiness making her grin. “It’s been too long, much too long since I’ve been here.”

“Six months, two weeks, three days and fourteen hours, to be precise,” Lucien said. “I cannot wait to take a decent bath! With bubbles!”

Pel glanced at Cullen. “Sounds like fun. How about you, Commander? You in?”

“Oh yes, Commander! Maybe Auryen will let me play with that little Dwemer ship!” He made zooming through water motions with one hand.

“I doubt it. You sunk it last time.” 

“I--” He blinked, staring at Pel, then at Lucien. “I am not sure how to respond.” He narrowed his gaze at his companions as they burst out laughing. 

“No, no,” Pel said, shaking her head. “It’s an outdoor bath. We’re clothed. Sort of.” She tilted her head at him. “You do have a point though. Lucien, you can play in it tomorrow. Cullen and I get it tonight. We’re filthy.”

“Well that’s not fair. I’m filthy too.”

“Lucien…”

He sighed. “Right, Boss. You’re the boss. SHE WHO RULES . That’s in all caps, of course.”

“Lucien!” 

Lucien barrelled on. “You think you get to go first. But not if I beat you there!” With that, Lucien whooped at his horse and took off, making both Cullen and Pel’s horses neigh in frustration when not allowed to chase after their companion.

Cullen chuckled. “How old is he?”

She smiled, then turned her horse after Lucien. “Twenty, I think. His birthday will be soon. I have no doubt his excitement over seeing my cousin again fuels his excitement. Come on. And don't worry, you can take a bath when we get there. A change of clothes wouldn’t be amiss, either.”

“Are you saying--”

“You smell like a horse? Yes. And more.” 

“I had a bath!”

“Sure, but your clothes didn’t.” She laughed. 

Cullen shook his head and followed Pel. He was more than glad when she urged her horse into a trot; happy to leave the swamp they’d crossed behind. Dodging giant spiders, evading lurking crabs with huge claws, and trying to outdistance fish with teeth was not his idea of a good time. Two of the crabs hung from Lucien’s saddle; a delicacy, he claimed after zapping them with an ice spell. 

They soon found a road, and now walked their horses parallel to Solitude along a long, narrow bay. The city loomed over them now--it was a large city, the largest he had ever seen. Though nightfall was a few hours away yet, lights lit along its stretch, from the largest building at the very top of the arch, all the way down to the part level with themselves. Far below the arch, the bay was packed with merchant ships.  Letting his gaze followed the water, he saw it led to wide-open waters beyond. The map bobbed in his mind; this was, he believed, the northernmost coast. He wondered what lay far to the north. 

“Cullen. I’d like to ask you a question. A personal question. May I?”

He turned back in his saddle. “Yes, of course, you can ask me anything you like. I’ll do whatever I can to answer it.”

She smiled, her eyes narrowing the way they had when she was amused. “That’s a bit dangerous.”

His ears and neck heated. He cleared his throat. “I-- Well.” He shrugged, glancing quickly at her. “I will do anything for you Pel. Even answer awkward questions. I am yours to command.” 

“Good. I like an obedient partner.” He laughed at that; her grin was smug. 

Maker’s breath. What had he got himself into?

“Okay. Awkward question number one, but I’d like to know before I meet your Inquisitor. Why did you give up on being with her? Duty, I know that. Did you love her?”

“Did I?” he mused. “I thought I did. Now, I know I did not.” He didn’t push that; he didn’t want to disturb her with the thoughts that kept pestering him every second he was around her. Not yet, though time was fleeting. “I truly believe that if I had wanted to fight for her, I would have. Looking back, I can clearly see it was more infatuation on my part than anything; I never thought of being with her as a permanent thing. As something that would last beyond the Inquisition. I never gave--nor did I even think about giving--all of my heart. Anytime she brought up the future, I fell silent. I kept it away from her, secreted away behind excuses and responsibility.”

“She was not right for you. Not a bad person, and neither are you. You simply weren’t right for each other,” Pel said.

“No, we weren’t. I can see that now,” Cullen said, glancing at Pel. “But with you-- I want to tell you everything. I want to share every thought, every desire. I want to share my fears, and hopes.” He paused. “Even my past, the good and bad. There is a lot of bad, Pel.” He shook himself, drawing in his breath, pushing those thoughts aside. “I want to do things for people, for Templars who are addicted to lyrium like I was.” At her questioning eyebrow, he sighed. “Part of being a Templar is the taking of lyrium. It gave us certain abilities, but is highly addictive.  I no longer take it.”

“Was it difficult to stop?”

“Yes. It still is,” he admitted. “Though, I am much better than I was.  Other Templars see that I successfully got off it and want to do the same.  My second, Rylen, and I talked about his plans to get off it the morning all this began.” He cleared his throat. “I would set up a clinic, maybe invite mages who have healing magic to join me in my work. And I want a farm. With lots of animals. I could do both. I imagine. A farm and clinic. Recovering Templars could help me work the farm.”

She smiled at him. “A farm? Goats, pigs, or cows?”

“Not pigs. But perhaps the others, import some cows from Rivaini. They have the best cows. And of course, I would breed mabari.”

“Wait. No pigs? Pigs are amazing creatures! You have to have at least one. For me?”

He laughed. “A pig, just for you. Why do I get the feeling, though, that it will end up a pet?”

“And the mabari--whatever they are--won’t?”

“Mabari are war dogs. Very intelligent, they can reason, follow directions.”

“So can pigs.”

“I did not know that.”

“I will show you, Commander. You will be amazed. Tell me more about these dogs you like so much. We have dogs here, but no war dogs.”

“After all the war in my country, they are becoming somewhat rare. Many escaped into the wilds, becoming feral, and are now hunted like wolves. They are more dangerous though, when they are loose and left on their own. I’d like to capture some, tame them if I can.”

“I have never had a dog. Or a pig.”

“Honestly?” He sighed. “Neither have I. Had a mabari, that is. Life as a Templar precluded that. It was, honestly, the hardest part about choosing to become one.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen. Late, for a recruit, but I convinced an old Templar in my village to teach me what he could. He saw promise in me, and convinced my parents to let me join.” He smiled, remembering the old Templar fondly.  “It was a difficult time. I was older than the others in my group. Fortunately one of the older boys took pity on me. He’s a good friend to this day.”

“So, I will meet him someday?”

His heart swelled at that. “Oh yes, of course. I would be happy to introduce you to our King. He’d be fascinated by you and ask more questions than Lucien.”

“A King? How did a Templar become a King? Wait, that King? You said he was a Grey Warden.”

Cullen looked at the trees high overhead. “He was training to be a Templar when I met him, but he wasn’t happy. He never did take his vows. He chose the path of the Grey Warden instead. Then the rightful King, his half brother, died in battle.  He left no heirs and the duty--” She huffed at that, making him smile. “The duty fell to Alistair though he wasn’t happy about it at first.” 

“So he isn’t a Grey Warden anymore.”

“One can never give up being a Grey Warden, I am afraid. Not like I was able to walk away from being a Templar.  It was many years before we saw each other again.” 

“Friends are precious and should be treated as such. Qa’Dojo and I have known each other since we were children. He was a foundling and lived with my uncle. Not Auryen, his brother-in-law. He’s human like you. A Nord.”

“So there are good Nords.”

She laughed. “A few. Every summer my parents sent me to visit uncle Auryen and Qa’Dojo and I would pick up right where we left off before. We both fell in love with the museum, and wanted nothing more than to work for Auryen when we grew up, exploring digs, especially Dwemer.”

“Why Dwemer?”

“Technology! The things they could do! They created lights that work without magic, steam machines that powered everything in their cities. All underground, and now just relics of the past.”

“Dwarves. In my world, they are dwarves.”

“Yes.”

“Qa’Dojo is a battle monk.”

“Yes. He trained with the monks who live near Solitude, solely that he could watch over me while I ran around exploring dig sites.  I wasn’t very good with the sword back then. A pickaxe? Oh yeah, I can swing a pickaxe like no one else. When I became the Dragonborn, Qa’Dojo said that wasn’t a very powerful image for the people to hang their hopes on.” 

“And Durak?”

“I guess you figured out they are lovers. That’s a long story. Durak is, or was, a Dawnguard. Vampire hunter. He was badly injured high in the Reach and we found him near death. Qa’Dojo took care of him, and boom, next thing I knew, they were sharing a tent.” She grinned. “And I got my Lucien because his father pays me to take him places and learn about things. They are my friends.”

“You are fortunate to have them.”

She leaned forward in her saddle, looking ahead. “Yes. I am. Not much further.” 

“Where will we cross?”

“Dragonbridge. It’s not far. It crosses over Karth River, leading to a small village. We’ll leave our horses there and walk up to the city. No horses allowed inside.”

“That’s quite an incline.”

“Still aching from last night, Commander?”

“I--” He eyed her and shrugged. “Yes. For you.”

Her smile turned soft. For the first time--or perhaps because the sun actually shone on her face--he saw a hint of pink on her cheeks. “And I for you, too.” She nudged her mount over to his. He took her offered hand, and they rode like that for awhile. He relished the feel of her hand in his; he straightened in his saddle, his worries and concerns forgotten, at least for a moment. 

This road was well-traveled: merchants, small caravans, and individual riders passed them going in the opposite direction. The strangers passing began to nod at Pel, wave to her, and even shouted out an occasional, “Hail, Dragonborn!” More than once their clasped hands were spied, and he was given either a broad, though curious grin, or a suspicious side-eye. 

The road took them beneath more of the giant trees he’d so admired the day before, and along a fast-moving river. A man herding waddling, white-faced animals that resembled Fereldan’s sheep--without horns--and his two black and white wolves raced up from the river, forcing them to stop. The two wolves milled about amongst the bleating sheep, pushing them this way and that, expertly maneuvering them across the road. 

“Fascinating,” Cullen said. “Wolves trained to herd sheep?”

“Wolves? No! Those are dogs, Cullen. Have you not seen dogs like that?”

“Not like those, no.” He watched them work until the last sheep crossed the road. 

The herder raised his staff. “Sorry, Dovahkin!” then followed after the herd.

“Dovahkin? Was that one of the names Lucien spouted out to me?”

She sighed. “I hate when he does that. Yes. It is one of my many names. It has become so ridiculous I answer to almost anything, just in case. Look, there’s Dragonbridge. Just past that last building there. Look through that corral, on the other side.”

Cullen looked up the road, bending down in his saddle to see, his hand slipping from Pel’s as they were forced to pull to the side for a caravan of Khajit and their wares. A massive bridge stretched out over the roiling river, a giant dragon’s head arching overhead. As they drew near, he found himself shaking his head in wonder at the massive structure.

“It is quite...ominous.” 

Pel laughed. “An honest reaction. Most people fall down in wonder, or perhaps fear, the first time they see it.”

“I prefer not to fall off my horse.” But as they passed underneath, he couldn’t help but look up, and, as Pel said, wonder. “Are there dragons bigger than the ones I've seen?” 

He chanced to look at Pel. She had an unexpectedly serious look on her face as she too looked up at the massive dragon. “Alduin is twice the size of the usual ones. Perhaps more than that.” 

“Pel--”

She held up her hand to stop him. “If Lucien were here he would regale you with all kinds of facts about the bridge, how it was built, when it was built, and everything you didn’t want to know.” 

“Can’t you tell me?” She frowned at him as their horses clacked across, leaving the giant dragon, and Pel’s pensive mood behind. “What? I am very curious.”

“No, I can’t. I can tell you about the headless horseman though.” She squinted up at the sky. “Be glad its daytime. Just talking about him after dark sometimes makes him appear.”

“A real headless horseman?”

She nodded, urging her horse the last few feet across the bridge. She surprised him by hopping off her horse, then realized two young children, a boy and a girl, were waiting for them. “If you see him, stop to talk to him, and he says ‘All the living shall fear the dead’ then you only have one hour left to live. So it is said.”

Cullen frowned as he dismounted his horse. “How does a headless man talk?”

Pel grinned as she handed her reins to the boy. “That’s the mystery. Only those who see him know. And then they’re dead and the dead can’t talk. So.”

“Except the headless horseman, apparently.”

“The headless horseman?” the girl said, eyes wide. “My da saw him once! He didn’t speak to him though, I guess. Da’s not dead.”

The boy frowned. “It’s all a tale, Keffy. There’s no such thing as ghosts or goblins or demons or anything.”

She glared at the boy, remarkably reminding Cullen of Pel. He dismounted his horse, handing the reins the girl. “Is too.”

“Stop being a baby.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. Cullen laughed. “Actually, there are. Ghosts, goblins, fairies, they are real, if you know where to look for them.”

“See?” the little girl said, then looked up at Cullen. “You talk funny.”

“I--suppose I do.”

Pel stepped in then, then took a couple coins out of a purse at her belt, pushing one into each of their hands. “Go. We’ll be back for them later and they better be brushed and rested.”

Both kids looked in shock at the coins. “Thank you, Dragonborn!” Keffy said as she tugged on the horse’s reins. 

The boy followed, and Pel watched after them, shaking her head. She brushed her hair from her eyes, then sighed, motioning for Cullen to join her. “I hadn’t even thought about how you sound to people.”

“I take it I don't sound like a Nord.”

She huffed, then slid her arm through his. “Nords-- most Nords--aren’t quite as sophisticated as you. So don't talk to strangers if you can help it. You’ll shock the Imperials”

“Please don't tell me to hush, smile and be pretty.”

She laughed. “Something tells me you have been told that before.”

“Many, many times.” 

“Come on. You ready for a good work out?”

"I already had one, last night, riding. I mean yesterday. Today!" Pel laughed as he melted in embarrassment at the little girl's puzzled look. 

"This must be why your people tell you to hush and just be pretty." She tugged on his hand again; giving in, he let her drag him up the hill. 

The climb to the city proper wasn’t as arduous as Cullen feared. He was still sore from his twice-tumble down the mountainside, nearly being blasted apart by Pel’s shout, and the endless hours in the saddle.  And other activities. As they passed through the city, Pel pointed out her favorite tavern and where they would get new clothes for him as his were, she said, a little too eye-catching, “especially that great hairy beast on your shoulder. Unless you're fine with all the staring?" 

"I like my hairy beast. I mean mantle." He hesitated and said, only half-kidding, "I'd feel naked without it."

"Fine, have it your way."

Pel grabbed his hand as soon as they were granted entrance. Cullen had been a little surprised that so many acknowledged her on the road, but the greetings she got as they walked through the city were astounding. Even Saphielle, as distinctive as she was, didn’t get such enthusiastic treatment wherever she went. Whispers and looks, yes, but not this overly-enthusiastic attention. 

Hails of good cheer, calls out to come by for a pint or pie, or both, whistles and waves from high above, merchants calling her by name, all the little kids grabbed hugs and some even kisses from Pel. Each time, though she let go of his hand, she found it again. Knowing matrons saw their clasped hands, more than one squealing in delight, hugging her and eyeing him up and down. They all called her by her full name, much to his amusement, especially when Pel would say, “Please, Berta, just call me Pel!” 

"A fine looker you’ve got there, Pelonia Sabrilia Attarnia!” 

She shook her head. “I swear,” she muttered to Cullen. 

An older golden-haired man called out behind them. “Pelonia Sabrilia Attarnia!” She stopped and turned, a wide grin lightening her face as the man approached.

“Corpulus Fastidius Nogopolus!”

“That’s not my name, girl!”

“Uncle then. I am so glad to see you.”  She leaped into his arms, hugging him as he twirled her around before setting her down. 

“Minette saw Lucien earlier but he didn’t stop in. Why didn't you tell me you were coming home?”

She kept her hand on his arm, and laughed. “Because you would’ve made it a grand fete.”

“You being home is cause for celebration. You are missed.” He put his hands on her shoulders, nodding. “You look wonderful.” He did a quick glance at Cullen. “Something you need to tell your favorite bartender, girl?”

She grinned, and that blush was back. Cullen cleared his throat, then remembered what she’d said. But she grabbed his hand. “Cullen, this is my uncle, Corpulus. He owns the Winking Skeever.” She clasped his hand with both of hers, tugging him close, but checking to see no one else was near as she lowered her voice. “Uncle, this is Cullen Rutherford. He’s my...” She glanced at him. “Mine.”

Cullen nodded, then held out his hand, wondering belatedly if they shook hands here. But Corpulus took it, his grip firm. “A pleasure.” He decided it was best to keep it short. But, Corpulus’s eyes widened, even at that. “I am visiting Pel. Skyrim, I mean. I’m not here for long, most unfortunately.”

Corpulus looked from Cullen, to Pel, something...sad in his eyes. “I see.” He hugged Pel again. “Got time for a drink? Just got a shipment of Blackbriar in from Riften. Can’t leave it sitting for long else it’ll go bad. Happy to break a bottle or two open and hear your tale.”

Pel held up her hand. “Sorry uncle, next time. We’re only here overnight and I know you, you'd keep us up half of it. Do you know if Auryen is in town?”

“He is, just got back this morning.”

“With Elian?”

He laughed. “The second Minette told Lucien that Elian was in town, well, that boy can run.” 

She kissed her uncle. “Thank you. I promise I will come see you soon.”

“And tell me everything.” He looked pointedly at Cullen again. 

Pel sighed, then tugged Cullen’s hand. “Come on."

By the time they finally were walking down a long cobbled street, bordered on each side with majestic houses that towered overhead, Cullen was half-dead on his feet. They’d bought Pel several thing, and for himself, thankfully, gloves. 

Pel had picked up a few presents for her uncle as well, talking animatedly with the sour-faced, snarky shopkeeper who nonetheless agreed to have all the packages sent to the museum. Cullen caught her smiling fondly at Pel as they left.

Pel's steps quickened the closer they got to what Cullen assumed was their destination--a magnificent blue building that was at the end of the street. “That’s the museum?” he said as she stopped before a double-gate. 

“No, that’s the Blue Palace. This is the museum,” she said, pointing to a sign that said Dragonborn Gallery. 

"Named after you, I take it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. Uncle Auryen refused to budge on that one, but I don't really mind. Much."  She unlocked the gate and trotted up an arching stairway that led to a heavily-carved wooden door. “This is the museum. The passageway to my home is over there. Not that I'm here much these days. Also, fair warning; Elian is Lucien’s, well, infatuation. And, my cousin. And, a bit of a brat.” 

Cullen followed after her, wondering what that could mean. Hesitating as lights magically brightened the hallway in which they stood, Cullen followed after Pel.

“Should I be wary?”

She cast him a smile. “No. We might not see them tonight. Elian and Lucien are probably already in the tub, however.  We’ll have to use the indoor one. Although, you may prefer that.” She turned right, into a room with a throne at the front, and massive tables laden with objects taking up the rest of the space. She touched one thing after another, picking up a small round object. “Oh this is beautiful! Watch, Cullen. Don't worry, it is disarmed. I think.”

Cullen’s hand went to his sword as she set the object on the table, and flicked it with a finger. The thing whirled to life--there was no other way to describe it--red lights flashing with no source that he could see. Just like the overhead lights, they were suddenly just there. Then legs shot out from it, waving at them both before the spider--it looked just like one--took off, fell off the table and disappeared.

"Well darn. I was going to keep that one as a pet."

“Magic?”

“No,” a warm voice said. “And Pel, darling, I am not positive the spider is disarmed yet. We just unpacked it not less than an hour ago.” 

Cullen looked around as Pel did. Again he watched in bemusement as she launched herself at the man, hugging him tight. Like Pel, he was an elf. A very, very tall elf, with unusual golden skin and light blond hair. 

“I am so glad you are here, Uncle. I was worried you would still be out in the field.” 

“Sweetheart. What’s wrong? Are you well?”

“Yes. And no.” When Pel pulled away, she wiped her eyes. “I have so much to tell you.” She waved at Cullen. “Uncle Auryen, this is Commander Cullen Rutherford. He came through an eluvian, following after the leader of his people from a world called Thedas.” She bit her lip, her eyes shining as she looked at Cullen. “He needs your help to find her, and to get them both home.” 

Then she fell into Cullen’s arms. Cullen looked over Pel’s shoulder at her uncle, the shock on his face. “Can you help me, sir?”

Auryen sighed. “If that is what you want, I will try.”

Cullen bent his head down, kissing the top of Pel’s head as she shuddered in his arms. “It is not what I want, sir, but what must be done.” 

Chapter Text

Explanations came out slowly while Auryen cooked and served them dinner. He listened patiently as first Pel, then Cullen, told their tale. Pel did most of the talking as Cullen ate. He was ravenous, and exhausted. He’d hoped the food would wake him, but by the time Pel had told Auryen everything--not even skipping the fact that she’d come to his rooms which, of course, made his face heat--he was even more tired. He wanted nothing more than to clean up, drag Pel to bed and make half-asleep love to her before passing out. He didn’t, however, particularly want her uncle to know what he intended. 

“Pel,” he murmured. “He doesn’t want to hear that.”

“Oh but I do, Commander.” The man’s grin radiated. “I surmised that something had occurred between the two of you. Let’s get back to how Pel nearly killed you, Commander. What happened, exactly?” Auryen poured them both some amber liquid, handing Cullen the glass. “Honningbrew mead. Quite delicious.”

“Thank you.” Cullen took it, taking a tentative sip. It was sweet, but very good.

Pel took hers and took a much larger sip than he did, draining half the glass before holding it out. Her uncle chuckled, and filled it again. Pel set her glass down and picked up the Dwemer spider again, turning it over. Its legs waved about, so much like a real spider, Cullen found himself a little wary.

“That was my fault. I was certain she needed rescuing and instead of properly evaluating the scene before me,” he half-turned in his chair, so he could look at her, “I stupidly drew my sword and flung myself right in the dragon’s path, intending to rescue the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I knew I had to save her.” His ears heated at his ridiculous words, but it was worth it when Pel’s eyes crinkled as she too turned to face him. He placed his arm on the back of her chair without really thinking about it and she leaned into it. 

“I looked up and there you were, this ridiculous blond idiotic sword-wielding maniac Nord--”

“Hey! I’m not a Nord!” He huffed. “But I can’t deny the rest. But I’m no Nord.”

“So you claimed.” She shook her head, still smiling as she took his free hand. “You were so beautiful, so wild and amazing. I was just--stunned.”

“I was? You were?”

“Of course.” She entwined her fingers with his. “I thought, wow, someone actually is trying to save me? That never happens. I’ve never been one to imagine myself needing saving, much less by a handsome fairy tale prince with incredible eyes and the sexiest of scars.”

Now, he was beyond blushing; his entire body heated. Oh, he wanted this woman! Again, and again and again. He wanted to make her his, be hers for eternity. All his life, women--and men--had fawned over him; he’d stuttered and stammered, too mortified to even begin to know what to do with it.  In time, of course, he’d learned the art of diplomacy--thanks in no part to Leliana and Josie’s patient teaching--but it didn’t come naturally to him. They trained him to deflect, to ignore, unless it was what he wanted. It still wasn’t easy. 

Except, with Pel. 

“Is that what made you pull back? My scar? ”

She nodded, kissing him, her tongue lingering on his scar. “Yes. I couldn’t let myself kill you without knowing how you got it. Not even for doing something so ridiculously bone-headed as throwing yourself in front of a dragon.” She sighed. “It was the most romantic thing ever.”

Cullen chuckled, tracing his fingers over her cheek. “I would do it again then. A thousand times over. Maker, that hurt though. Could you toss me into a bush next time?”

A laugh interrupted Cullen’s thoughts. He looked up to find Lucien entering, followed by a tall--very tall--red-headed elf. Even taller than Auryen. “A pond would be safer,” the man said. “Odds are, I would wager--if I had any gold to wager with--at least one of those thousand attempts Pel wouldn’t miss and bam, you’d be splattered all over the rocks. Not a pretty picture. Though it would make for an interesting experiment.”

“Elian, really?” Pel said as the two men sat down. 

He just grinned at her and helped himself to some of the food. Turning his smile to Cullen, he leaned over the table, hand extended. Cullen did the same, shaking it, raising his eyebrows at the size of the elf’s hand and the firm grip.  

“Elian Morellus. Pel’s cousin and occasional bodyguard.” He narrowed his eyes at Cullen; he felt rather... little which was extraordinarily unusual for him. “Though looks like she doesn’t need my services any longer. You must be Pel’s newest lover. Commander something something?”

Cullen gritted his teeth. Before Pel or Cullen could say something--or even Lucien who paled and was, for once, speechless--Auryen reached over and smacked his son on the head. 

Elian backed away, rubbing his forehead. “Ow, Dad. What was that for?”

Auryen pushed him back down. “For being an ass. Cullen-- Commander Rutherford has come to us for help. Show some respect. Lucien. Did you not tell him?”

Lucien blushed, and said, stammering, “Well, I uh, see, we were…busy?”

“Busy not talking,”  Elian said, cupping Lucien’s head and pulling him close, and kissing him. They locked eyes. “You kept my little Imperial away too long, Pel.”

“Well you’ll get to keep him for awhile, so stop complaining.”

Both Lucien and Elian looked at her in surprise. “Oh?” Elian said, as Lucien said, face brightening, “Really?”

It was Auryen who spoke. “Lucien, can you find the area where you found the Commander?”

“Certainly. The dragon bones are there.”

“You and  Elian will go back there tomorrow.” Auryen walked over to a desk--he lifted up the lid, which Cullen found quite a clever design. “Now, where is that… ah yes.” He pulled out a scroll, waving at the table; for a half-second Cullen thought the man was a mage, intending to move the dishes by magic. But Lucien and Elian scrambled to make room, pulling all the food toward them. Pel picked up the Dwemer spider again. He wondered if she intended to keep it. As a pet, perhaps. 

“That’s a map of the area?” Pel said. “I didn’t know you had maps for that part of Skyrim.”

“Recent find. Traded a few duplicate items for several maps I’d had my eye on for quite some time.” He rolled the map open, pulling several rocks out of his pockets to put on the corner. “This is a general map of that area, I believe.” Cullen leaned over to study the map; underneath the table, he found Pel’s hand. There were marks he didn’t recognize, and though he could understand the language here, he certainly couldn’t read the writing on this map. He frowned; Auryen noticed. “This is in a language I’ve never seen before.” He smiled at Cullen. “This is Solitude, this is Morthal, and Falkreath.”

“This is where we found him, more or less,” Pel said, pointing to a river--or at least Cullen assumed the wavy lines in blue with little fish bones was the river. “He had to have come from up here.” She tapped the map which, clearly, was mountainous. 

“There’s dozens of caves up there,” Elian said. “It could take days to explore them all. Weeks even.”

“We don't have weeks,” Cullen said softly. “Once we find Saphielle, we have to get back home as quickly as we can.”

“Oh? You intend to just leave her? Like that?” Elian’s eyes had hardened. “Talk about being an ass. That's cruel. You don't know what she's been through--”

Pel thumped the table, making them all jump. “No, you are the ass,” she hissed, pushing her chair back and standing. “I don't need you to defend me, Elian. I don't need defending. Cullen has as much duty as I have, back home. They’re fighting a creature bent on destroying their world. Saphielle is the only one who can stop him.”

“Then find her and stay here.”

“No,” Cullen said, his voice harsh. “I am her Commander. I would never shirk my duty."

"So you'll just fucking break my cousin's heart?" He pushed back in his chair. 

"And my own, yes." Elian startled at that. "If we don't find the Inquisitor, if I don't get her safely back to Thedas as soon as possible, Corypheus will notice she is gone. He may already know she is gone. He will come for her. He knows about the eluvians, and how they work. Without Saphielle, Thedas has no future. If she stays here, dies here, or I can’t find her until it is too late-- He will follow her here.” He shook his head. “He wants Saphielle, the power she holds literally in the palm of her hand. He will do anything to find her and take it. He will destroy my world to get it. He already has, once. It must not happen again. We will get no further second chances.”

Lucien paled visibly as Cullen spoke. “How do you know that?”

Cullen ran his hands over his face; he was exhausted. Mentally, physically--emotionally. “Just as travel between worlds exist, so does time travel. Saphielle and one of her companions, Dorian, traveled through time, to the future. In two years, without Saphielle, Thedas was almost destroyed. I was dead.” Pel sucked in her breath at that, entwining her fingers with his. “The rest of the Inquisition--my friends--were dead. My family; my army--destroyed. We were gifted the chance to make sure what we saw as our future doesn’t happen. The Inquisitor’s decision to come here was rash. I must get her back to Thedas.” 

His voice had gone quieter; no one moved to interrupt him. How could he convince these people--and he wanted to, desperately--that the threat was real, and was terrible as the future Alduin intended to impose on them? Worse? There was no lyrium here. There would be, once Corypheus crossed the divide between the two worlds. Red lyrium would swallow this land as surely as it would Thedas.

He brought Pel’s hand to his lips, kissing her fingers. He didn’t give a damn anymore what they thought, what anyone thought, but Pel. Not about this. “I refuse to endanger you. Any of you, by my continued presence here.”

Auryen sighed. “What do you wish to do, Commander?”

“Find Saphielle, wherever she is. Take her home. Defeat Corypheus.” He glanced at Pel. “And wait for you to come to me.” He smiled, not taking his eyes from her. “I’m going to find a farm near my sister and her family. Raise a mabari--war dogs--and grow corn. Or wheat. Or I don't care what. And I’m going to help Templars like myself get free of lyrium.”

“What’s lyrium?” Elian asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Lucien said softly.

“Why not come here after, and help Pel?”

Cullen shook his head. “Because after my duty with the Inquisition is done, it is my duty to stay safe, for her, until we can be together permanently.”

“Marry me,” Pel said, whispering. Then, her voice stronger, she said, “Forget waiting until then. I don't want to wait.”

“But you just met!” Lucien said, and this time it was Elian who said, actually sounding a little in awe, “Love at first sight doesn’t just happen in fairy tales, Luc.”

“I’m so putting this in my book,” Lucien mumbled, pulling a pencil out of a pocket. He patted his coat. “I left my journal upstairs.” He grabbed a napkin. 

“Not that,” Auryen grumbled, then pulled a tablet out of his desk and handed it to Elian who then gave it to Lucien. 

Cullen ignored them. His heart skipped a beat, he was certain of that. “Do you mean that, Pel? We did truly just meet--”

“I know. I don't care.” She blinked at him. “You could be gone tomorrow. Will you?”

He dipped his head, smiling even as his entire body heated from the shock, the joy, the hope. “I will. Mia will kill me for not being invited to her favorite brother’s wedding.”

“So we’ll do a second one, in Thedas.”

“It does make sense to do that,” Lucien said, nodding vigorously. “Two worlds, two different marriage rites. Different gods and all that. Marriage before the Nine here, before your Maker there.” He beamed. “Can I go with you to Thedas, Pel? I couldn’t bear to miss that. Second hand description would not work for my book! I must be there.”

“If you wish, why not?” Cullen shrugged as he took Pel’s other hand in his own. “Is this how it is done here? The woman, not the man does the proposing?”

Lucien cleared his throat. “Not generally. If the couple is two men or two women…”

Elian shook his head, but squeezed Lucien’s shoulder. “Hush. Whatever works for you, Pel.” He nodded his head to Cullen. “I am sorry I was rude to you, but she’s my baby cousin. Even if she is the dread Dragonborn.” His smile at Pel was genuine and Cullen could feel her relax. “What do you think, dad? Marry them?”

“I could, of course.”

Cullen gulped, but he felt no panic, no fear. Only overwhelming...relief. “I would like that, sir. If Pel would.”

“We don't have rings. And I want Qa’Dojo and Durak to be there.”

Auryen stood. “I have a museum full of rings, luckily for you! I will be right back.”

Cullen watched Auryen dash off. “How does he know our sizes?” He spread his hands, frowning at his reddened knuckles. He sorely missed his gloves. 

Lucien stuffed a roll in his mouth. “Magic.” 

“We’ll wait then, for them.”

Pel nodded. “You would feel comfortable with Saphielle standing for you?”

“I am her Commander. It is only fitting.”

Auryen returned with a box. “Move the map please, son. Take it with you.”

Elian pulled the map free of its rocks, and rolled it up, handing it to Lucien. Auryen sat the box down. It was a beautiful box made of golden metal with interesting little round gears, similar to those on the table full of oddities behind them. With a few touches to the gears, each of which started rotating, the box slowly opened to reveal a black velvet lining. Nestled within were two rings--Cullen stared at them in bemusement. 

“Lions,” he said, touching first one and the other. “I had a helmet once, that resembled a lion.”

“Your armor mantle looks like a lion’s mane.”

Cullen nodded. “I’m not sure where the story came from, as it certainly isn’t true today, but my father once speculated that there were lions in my family’s heraldry--that no longer exists.” He shrugged, picking up the smaller of the rings. It was remarkably heavy. “In my world, wedding rings are worn on the left hand.”

“On the right. Which, I might add, is very inconvenient for sword fighting.”

Cullen quickly chased away his frown. That’s right. She’d been married. “They are beautiful,” he murmured. “Is it bad luck to try it on?”

Auryen chuckled. “It will fit.” He took the smaller ring from Cullen, and placed it in the box. “Now I suggest we all retire. I am certain you would enjoy a shower, Commander.”

“Shower?” 

“You fixed them?” Pel said as she stood, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet, pulling him toward the door. 

“I did indeed. Instant hot water! It is amazing. The hot water lasts no more than twenty minutes, so you’d best be quick.” Auryen smiled benignly. “Perhaps sharing the water would be best? Yes?”

Clean, warm, and sated, Cullen pulled Pel into his arms as they got into bed, a bed even more ornate than the Inquisitor’s Orlesian monstrosity. He kissed her, smiling into the darkness of her room as she nestled against him with a tired sigh. He ached to make love to her again, his cock nudging her where it was trapped between them, but a soft “not now, little buddy” made him laugh. 

“Sorry.” 

She reached between them, stroking him, making him groan. “Never be sorry for wanting me. You think it’d be tired too, anyway. Or too sore.”

He chuckled, rubbing his hand down her, cupping her backside. “I am both.” He turned on his side to face her. He could barely see her features in the darkness; only the scant light from the moon through a window bathed the room. He kissed her forehead. “Sleep now.”

She nodded, sighing as he pulled her to him, his legs entwining with hers. As she fell asleep in his arms, he tried not to think about the coming days--hours, possibly--they had left. They were going to marry. He loved her. “I love you, Pel.”

“And I you. Sleep now.” She tilted her head up. “No thinking.”

“I’m not-- I am.” He sighed. “I can’t help it.”

“I know.” 

When Cullen next opened his eyes, it was still dark. He and Pel had barely moved, and though he was certain some time had passed, he was still exhausted, his body craving many more hours of rest. But he’d woken for a reason. A knock? 

“Pel!”

Pel jerked her head up, tilting it toward the door. “Lucien?” She slid out of the bed and pulled a shift out of a drawer, throwing it over her nakedness, then left the room as the knocking now grew frantic. 

“Pel! Commander!”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen said, getting out of the bed and padding after Pel. He slid behind her just as she opened the door to reveal Lucien in a yellow satin robe. He gaped at them. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, you were asleep? Of course you were asleep. Unless you were…” He gulped as Cullen gave him a hard look. “Asleep.” 

Pel brushed back her hair. “What is it, Lucien? Did we hear from Qa’Dojo?” 

“Yes, a courier, no scroll.”

“Where,” Pel asked, moving away from the door and headed back to her room. Cullen followed after her. 

Behind them he heard Lucien gasp. “Commander, you do know you’re naked?”

“Where , Lucien,” he asked, reaching for his smalls and yanking them on. “What did the message say?”

Lucien turned his back on them. Pel flipped one of the Dwemer lights on and they hurried to dress. His armor had been cleaned--somehow--by Auryen, and had been returned while they were still in the shower. When Pel began to throw on her own armor, he followed suit. 

“She did meet with Falion, and he sent her to Winterhold. He gave her a cloak, and some spells and soul gems but not, according to Durak, what she sought.”

“Soul gems?” asked Cullen.

“For her magic. We don't use the Fade like your mages. Instead, we create soul gems and fill them with souls from--”

“Explain later, Lucien.” 

“Sorry. Sorry, Pel. Anyway. Qa’Dojo and Durak headed for Winterhold via the trail the Inquisitor took but the trail stopped before they even reached Windhelm.”

“Why would Falion tell her to go that way?” Pel mused as she pulled on her boots. “Anything else?”

“They found her staff.”

“Fuck, ” Cullen said. He strapped his sword on--it too had been cleaned, oiled and polished--and within minutes, they were ready. “Sorry. She would never part willingly with her staff.”

“Is she defenseless without it?”

“No, but she’s a spirit mage which would be useless against whoever took her, disconnected from the Fade as she is.” 

Saphielle. They should’ve already gone after her. He should’ve gone after her. All the excuses in the world would fail him if he failed her. Failed Thedas. 

“Then we’d best get going. Lucien, tell Auryen thank you, and I apologize for our haste. And please,” Pel said.

Cullen pulled on his mantle, and though every word he next spoke threatened to sunder him in two, he said, “ And find that eluvian. I must get the Inquisitor home, if I can find her. If I haven’t already failed her.”

Pel said nothing, just nodded. “Go, Lucien. We’ll be back as soon as we can.” Once Lucien was gone, Pel turned to him. “Cullen--”

He saw the fear, the worry, the uncertainty in her eyes. He took her in his arms, and kissed her--not a gentle kiss, but deep, loving, and poured through with all his hopes and fears. “I love you,” he whispered. 

Within fifteen minutes, they were back on their horses, and headed for Windhelm.

Chapter Text

Snowy mist hung low in the sky as they rode along the tree-lined road toward Windhelm.  It was not a pretty day. Auryen refused to let them leave without full camping gear for cold weather: a tent, two thick bedrolls, and plenty of food. And, an extra cloak for Cullen to wear over his clothes. He’d protested, but the extra warmth was most welcome.  As were the gloves.  

Neither spoke much, both lost in their thoughts, but they rode side-by-side within touching distance. Occasionally a leg would brush the other’s, occasionally a gloved hand.  When that happened they’d grasp each other’s fingers with tender desperation, breaking their grip only when the horses pulled them apart, or travelers forced them to ride one behind the other. 

“How much further?” Cullen finally asked after several hours of riding. It had begun to snow, a sloppy, wet snow; the sea to the north made sure of that.

He knew he sounded impatient, but he was, in fact, very much so. He’d never been so worried about Saphielle, even in the highest throes of their romantic relationship when she was gone for weeks, battling darkspawn and closing rifts.  

This was different. Then, she’d had Bull, Dorian, and Sera or Cole to watch out for her. Now, she had no one. He had no idea if she was injured, if she could even use magic here without the Fade if indeed her connection was cut off. The soul gems made him shudder, and who knew if they would work for her? Likely the ones she had were taken anyway, due to their value. She could be defenseless, just an ordinary young elf in a strange, frightening world.  

“We should reach Nightgate Inn by midnight. Windhelm Stables by mid-morning, if we push a little. You up to it?”

Cullen had to smile despite the heavy weight of his heart, and his sore backside. “To have more time alone with you tonight? Absolutely, though I have a feeling when our heads hit the pillows, we’ll both be fast asleep in minutes.” 

Pel nodded, then urged her horse into a gallop. Cullen urged the mare to follow. He was glad to be riding Kamarin again. She was a remarkable horse. As both horses flew along the road he saw he’d been right regarding their endurance. 

They rode for hours, stopping now and then to rest and water the horses, have some of the food Auryen had packed for them. Occasionally they led the horses and walked on foot, holding hands, talking softly about inconsequential things.

He would treasure these brief moments in the hard, lonely days to come. Once they met up with the others, moments where it was just the two of them would be scarce. 

Pel understood his mixed emotions, doing her best to keep his optimism up. She was, in truth, much stronger than he. Again and again he marveled at her conviction.  There simply was no doubt in her mind about their feelings for each other, despite their mission: they searched for a woman he once loved, and who would take him away from the woman he loved now. Yet, as they walked and rode closer to the end of their time together, his heart felt lighter and lighter, and more sure. 

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Pel, and he would make that happen, no matter what it took, no matter how long it took. If only the Maker would grant him the power to make it so.   

Night came early this far north in Skyrim, and he was grateful when they reached the inn earlier than Pel had predicted.  After eating, too exhausted to do much but hold each other, they slept for a few hours before riding out again, well before dawn.  At last, the road took them over one last hill. Spread before them along a broad river was a walled city, dark stone with an overlay of ice.  

“Windhelm,” Pel said in distaste. “Stormcloak territory.”

“We won’t be going into the city, then?”

“No. We will leave our horses at the stable. That is all. Though the civil war is over, I am an Imperial, and of course an elf. An Altmer elf. It is not good to be either in Windhelm where a quick knife can end a life without the fear of witnesses. Look, there’s Durak, by the waterfall bridge. And-- I don't recognize the other person. Stableboy maybe”  Pel urged her horse forward then jumped off as soon as she reached the orc and his companion. He followed suit. “Durak. Do you have any further news?”

“Yes, Dragonborn.”  The boy’s eyes widened as he stared at Pel. Cullen joined them, and slid off his horse, taking the reins over the mare’s head.  “Qa’Dojo waits for us at Raldbthar.”

Pel stopped, then looked back at Cullen, her eyebrows drawn together in worry before turning back to Durak.  “Raldbthar? Are you positive that’s where she’s gone?”

Durak crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing. “The hunter’s camp was attacked but there was one survivor.  She told us what she saw, and it was definitely the Inquisitor. ‘ Snow elf ,’ she called her. She was with many others, all dressed in white robes. The woman did not know why they wanted the girl but she was bound and unconscious.”

“She was without doubt a captive, then,” Cullen said, clenching his fist on his sword. He hated this helplessness. Hated that Saphielle was enduring who knew what.  

He didn’t want to imagine what. 

“Yes.”  Durak signaled to the boy waiting a few feet away. He scrambled quickly to them.  “This boy will take your horses to the Windhelm stable. We will walk to meet Qa’Dojo.”  

Pel brushed her hair back from her face. “I don't like this, Durak.”

“Neither does the Khajit.”  

“What is Raldbthar?” Cullen asked as they pulled the packs that Auryen had prepared for them off their saddles, then handed the care of their horses to the boy. He side-eyed Cullen curiously, but he mostly stared at the Dragonborn with wonder.  Durak took Pel’s pack, then Cullen’s, easily tossing both over his back.  

“Raldbthar. Why does it have to be Raldbthar?” Pel’s voice was a whisper.  She shook her head, hunching her shoulders.  

He watched her withdraw from him, turning away and stomping up the hill.  Concerned, he caught up with her and said, “Pel, what is it?”  

She kept walking. “I mentioned I was married. I think? It was long ago.”

“You were… what?”  Confused, he sorted through their conversations. She turned to look back at  him, one eyebrow raised. She hadn’t told him directly, but he’d overheard her talking to Qa’Dojo, that first morning. “What happened?”

“He died in Raldbthar. The way into its depths was found only about seven years ago.  My uncle, Elian, and I had first rights to explore it and pull out Dwemer artifacts to preserve for the museum. Not that bandits respected that. Haladar was apprenticed to the blacksmith in Solitude, and was anxious to search for weapons in the ruins. Auryen didn’t want him to come but Dar didn’t like to take no for an answer. Finally, my uncle relented. 

“Dar wasn’t an explorer, I knew it was a mistake, but I was young and stupid and thought I was in love and couldn’t tell him no. I should’ve been watching him more closely--we all should have. I never thought…”  Anger and sadness flitted across her features. “We were young, we thought we knew everything. He certainly did.” She laughed softly. “I told him to watch out, that just because an object didn’t look dangerous didn’t mean it wasn’t.” 

“I am sorry you had to endure that, lose someone you cared about.”  You will not lose me. Especially not to stupidity.  

She stopped to catch her breath; this part of the hill was more like a mountain, and was dangerously rocky beneath the snow. That explained why no horses.  

She leaned into his touch, then slid into his arms.  For a long moment she said nothing. They simply stood in the middle of the snow-covered hill, catching their breath. She tilted her head up and kissed him, her lips cold but soft on his own. He deepened the kiss but only briefly as even here, in the middle of a road and watched by Durak, his body responded most enthusiastically. He wanted. He pulled back and she grinned, her eyes conveying she knew quite well her power over him. 

Her lips again met his, though too briefly.  Still holding him, she looked back down the hill.

“He didn’t listen to me. He was going down some stairs ahead of us. It was our last day there, and we already had so much to bring back! It would take us months to go through it all. He just wanted one more thing. Just one more dagger or bow or sword. We could see into a room full of weapons at the bottom of some stairs we only noticed on the way out, and the last thing I remember of him, after Auryen warned him to wait, was him turning and running down the stairs anyway… He triggered some mechanism, and… 

“Please Cullen, when we go down there?” She gripped his upper arms, hard. “Listen to me, and Qa’Dojo especially. He’s been back here more than I have and knows it better than I. This place--it is full of danger, and always will be. The little spider at the museum? It’s tiny, probably a child’s toy to represent the full-size spiders that haunt the place.”

“Giant mechanical spiders?” That… did not sound good.  “I am not afraid of spiders. Usually.” He touched her cheek with his gloved hand, lowering his voice. “I trust you, Pel. I will do as you say. What kind of Commander would I be, giving orders to others all the time and expect obedience, and not do so myself?”

“You must be a wonderful Commander.”

“I try.”

“No. You do more than just try. I have no doubt your troops follow you gladly. Your first thoughts are for your leader, your Inquisitor, not yourself. You are magnificent. I hope she appreciates this.”

“Perhaps after I am done chastising her for taking such unwarranted risks.”

She smiled grimly, then motioned they should start climbing the hill. 

He trudged along next to her, wishing he could stop time, and spend it all with her.

“If your Inquisitor truly is down there--she is in incredible danger. But, we must proceed carefully.” 

“What will we encounter, besides spiders?”

“Spiders as I have said, other large metal balls that look like ordinary spheres will suddenly burst into life, giant mechanical men--we had to leave a great deal down there that first time, needless to say, and when we went back, it was as if something had made more of those things.  She took a deep breath. “If we are fortunate, we will find her in the first descent. If not, we will have to go deeper, and deeper is even worse.”

“Sounds like the Deep Roads in Thedas. They are dwarven as well, but our dwarves are much different than the Dwemer. And, still in existence.  Are there other things we--I--should worry about, besides killer Dwemer artifacts?”

“Oh yes, the Falmer. They’re… men and women. But, not.” She shrugged.  “They herd horrible creatures called chaurus. The sooner we find your Inquisitor the better our chances of not seeing any as Falmer tend to live in the darkest of places.  Our goal must be to find her as soon as possible.” She stopped, wavered as she looked up at him in dismay.  

The sooner we find her, the sooner we will part.   

He saw it in her eyes.  He knew she saw it in his, also.  He pulled her close, kissing her gently again. “I will be careful, and I will do everything you say. I would never want to place such a burden as my safety on your shoulders, when it is avoidable. I will be obedient.”

As he’d hoped, she smiled. “Thank you.” She sighed, looking up the hill at the empty camp. It was clear that someone had been through there, and mercilessly killed the inhabitants. There was still blood on the snow.  

“The miner’s camp. Who can these people be? Who would kill harmless miners? We need to hurry.”  

She veered off the path, and Cullen and Durak--who had stayed quiet, so much so Cullen found himself missing Lucien’s chatter--headed up the snowy hill.  When they crested it at last, and walked the base of bare rock, Cullen stopped and stared in surprise. He’d expected half-torn down ruins, not this.  

Multiple sets of stairs of white stone in perfect precision led the rest of the way up. Several domed buildings with trimmings of gold--surely it was not real gold--rose above them.  They ascended first one platform and then another, finally ending up in front of the largest building. It was positively massive, with two staircases leading up to its level, and a final staircase leading to a golden set of doors. 

A smaller dome sat nearby, to the left.  He glanced at it, curious. It looked like a giant bird cage.

“That’s an elevator from the depths.  If all goes well we will not be using it.”

“We can’t use it to go down?”

“No. The lever to activate the gate is inside. We don't know how they activated it from outside. Drove my uncle mad, trying to figure that out.”  

Cullen gazed up the stairs to the double-doors.  “Beautiful.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet, but it is magnificent, isn’t it? Hard to believe they’ve been gone thousands of years. The buildings have held up amazingly well,” Pel said, her voice hushed as they looked up at the white building above them.  

The massive doors opened, and Qa’Dojo poked his head out.  “This Khajit is glad you have arrived!”

“What happened to them?” Cullen followed Pel up the stairs. “How did a people with such incredible knowledge and talent, fail? I sound like Lucien, now, don't I.”

“No one knows. There is speculation that it was disease, or more likely a war between them and the Nords that started their downfall. A few years ago, someone--one of my uncle’s fellow researchers,” she huffed at that, “claimed she had proof that it was revenge from a small group of snow elves, but that is preposterous.  When he confronted her about it, she just mumbled ‘vampires’.” She grinned. “That’s when we met Durak. He debunked her in a hurry.”

Durak grumbled. “She was a fool, though not wrong about vampires.”

“And the snow elves?”  

“They were extraordinary. Paintings still exist of them here and there, but any ruins did not hold up like the Dwemer.  The museum has a few paintings, a few other artifacts though nothing like the Dwemer artifacts. They were small, and lovely with pale skin, blue or green eyes and snow-white hair.  Very powerful mages, but physically not so strong.”

Cullen stopped, frowning.  “Pel… you just described the Inquisitor.”

They’d reached the top of the stairs. Qa’Dojo approached Durak, clasping hands with him.  

“I was gone two hours, Khajit.” 

“Any troubles?”  

“Commander,” Qa’Dojo said, bowing his head.  To Pel he said, “I found two bandits inside but they had just arrived, or so they said before I dispatched them. They could tell this Khajit nothing.” Qa’Dojo glanced at Cullen. “The Inquisitor is a snow elf?”

“She’s Dalish. Which means nothing here but no, nothing special, other than being a mage.”

Qa’Dojo rubbed his whiskers with the back of his hand, looking so much like a real cat Cullen had to bite his cheek.  But he saw the thoughtful, concerned look in the Khajit’s eyes. He was starting to be able to understand the subtle mannerisms, he realized, of both their odd companions.  Right now? Qa’Dojo was worried.

“Durak. Do you remember those people with strange clothing and masks we saw in Solstheim last we went?”

Durak grunted.  “Loons. Hammering on rocks all day.”

“Yes, true, but not them.  Three elves we saw in the Retching Netch.  Not Dunmer.”

“You told me about them,” Pel said.  She turned to look down the staircase.  “They were dressed all in white. Their hair was white. You talked to them.”

Durak snorted. “Loons. End time crap, rise of the dead---”  He stopped. “Fuck.”

“What is it?” Qa’Dojo asked.

He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. “If I hadn’t already left the Dawnguard, I would be forced to do so now. Vampires. They were vampires. ”

Qu’Dojo stroked his whiskers.  “We did only see them in a bar. This Khajit recalls it being dark and seedy.” 

Durak frowned, or what Cullen thought of as a frown. The change was subtle, but he knew that look--anger, directed by Durak at himself.  

“You remembered now,” Cullen pointed out.  

Durak clacked his teeth together.  “You are right Commander. Thank you. There are many cults in Skyrim, and most are located in Solstheim.  There was even a cult that claimed Pel was not the Dragonborn.”

Pel made a face. “I was never more relieved to get off that island. Sand was stuck in places it didn’t belong, for months.”  She glanced at Cullen. “They kidnapped me to prove that I was not who I claimed to be.” Her smile was feral. “They learned they were mistaken.”

“This Khajit thinks perhaps we have found your Inquisitor’s captors, Commander.  My love--” At Durak’s swift growl, Qa’Dojo chuckled. “You got sidetracked. Does this perhaps bear significance?” He pulled something out of his robe pocket. 

Durak took it, and they all drew close to see what it was. To Cullen, it looked like a terrifying doll; a tiny face, frozen in a snarl, the head and upper arms only. The body was a black robe with a skull in deep blue on the front.  The eyes were green, with silver hair that reminded him too much of Saphielle’s.

Pel put her hand on Cullen’s, gripping it tight.  “Cullen, I told you about the Falmer? They were once snow elves, eons and eons ago. If vampires took her here, it could be because they believe her to be a snow elf.”

“Which would mean what to Saphielle’s safety?”

She shrugged.  “I don't know.”

“But you suspect.” 

“The leader of the vampires no longer exists. He was a snow elf. And a mage. Cullen, they could mean to either turn her, or kill her. I don't know.”

Cullen’s blood ran cold.  Cold anger burned through him.  “We must find her. I will not, I must not let either--”  He shook his head. 

“We won’t. But Cullen, remember what you promised me.”  She unsheathed her sword. “All of you. Qa’Dojo, you will lead, you are most familiar with the ruins. Cullen, you and I will follow behind. Durak will come last. He is our strongest fighter, and spiders tend to come from behind.  I sorely wish we had Lucien with us right now but I will have to do.”

Stunned, he watched as Pel closed her eyes, and murmured a few words.  Her left hand suddenly glowed a bright purple.

“You’re a mage?” He was incredulous. How had he not known? He hadn’t considered her shouts to be magic, truly--that was different.   

“No, but I can do a spell or two. I could teach you if you’d like.”

Cullen looked after her in shock. Me, learn spells?  

Qa’Dojo chuckled, and bent close to Cullen, nudging his arm. “The Dragonborn is full of surprises, no? Come, my friend. Let us find your snow elf.”

Chapter Text

The ruins were everything Cullen had been warned about.  Beautiful in their timeless state, awe-inspiring in their magnificence.  Over the course of the next few hours, as they moved deeper and deeper into the ruins, he saw things he could never have imagined. The architecture itself was fascinating, though odd to him. Why would a diminutive race build such cavernous spaces?  When they ran across giant metal moving tubes, which made puffs of steam--almost dangerously hot--he stopped and stared in wonder.  

“They’ve been working for thousands of years.  We don't know their purpose,” Qa’Dojo said. “Though Lucien probably could fill our heads with speculations.”

“I wish he was with us,” Cullen said as they walked past a mound of metal that made him shudder. It resembled a spider, though smashed flat.  “Is that--”

“Indeed.”

Pel grimaced, then flicked her hand up, making another hovering ball of light appear.  The first time she did it, Cullen startled. They never lasted long, but he was glad she could make them.  

“Are you certain you are not a mage?”

“Not a mage. Lucien taught me the spells for lightning and the glowy light. We discovered that I can pull from the dragon souls like he pulls from soul gems to cast spells.”  

They fell silent as they came upon another set of stairs, this one going up an incline rather than down, as Cullen expected. The first one they’d encountered, Pel stopped him, but the mechanism she was concerned about had all ready been destroyed.  This staircase however, was different.

“Damn,” she muttered, picking up a piece of rubble. She tossed it up the steps. Metal blades shot out from a slot in the middle of the stairs, then unfolded, whirring with incredible speed.  It moved up the staircase toward them, blades glinting in the light from the globe. She stepped back, into Cullen, reaching behind her to hold him. “I hate these things.”

“How in the world is it working?” Cullen instinctively pulled her further back as the whirling blade reached the bottom of the stairs.  “Can we stop it?”  

There was no going around the blades, and he didn’t see how--  Pel stepped forward, her left hand glowing. He started to reach for her but Durak stopped him just as purple lightning streaked from her hand, hitting the mechanism full-force.  The blades blew apart on the lightning’s impact.

“Like that.”

“Impressive,” Durak said.  

They continued on, moving ever downward.  Cullen had never been to the Deep Roads, but he could see why Alistair hated them so much. He did not care to be underground, he realized. Cullen could feel the weight of the earth above them pushing down on him.  He was tense and surprisingly nervous. This was by no means his element, but Pel’s determination, the reassurance of her touch now and then, and his own anxiousness to find the Inquisitor, pushed him on.

They walked for hours through the twisting, turning maze. Slowly. Carefully. He wanted to go faster, push onward, but respected Pel’s order for caution and to move slow.

More than once, Qa’Dojo stopped, and motioned them to go around a metal disk on the floor. “Trap,” he said.  A few times they encountered pipes spouting flame, preventing them from going forward, and they’d have to backtrack and find another route. 

It became clear to Cullen that the Dwemer had designed their home--city, he supposed--with precise planning but he couldn’t figure out the logic.  They passed through areas that were full of steam; other areas where few of the pipes were visible. They passed through what had to be residential areas--the stone beds looked far from comfortable to him.   He thought they were benches, not that he fit them anyway. Then they came to areas that were vast, empty chambers, with stairs to either side leading to a single door. He couldn’t fathom the reason for those areas and did not ask. 

None of them said much; only the distant hiss of steam, and their own footsteps through the rubble the only sound as they passed through rooms and hallways and up and down stairs. He knew they were still descending, and he remembered Pel’s hope they wouldn’t have to go to the lower levels but his optimism waned. Surely, they were miles deep already?  He lost all grasp on how much time had passed. It could be midnight, or the next day; exhaustion pulled at him.

At all times, he searched for signs the Inquisitor had passed through here.  If she’d been conscious, she probably would’ve left signs, whether or not she knew he had followed her to Skyrim. But, there was nothing. 

“Qa’Dojo, you do know where you are going?” Durak finally asked as they reached the end of a particularly long hallway. It was cramped here, and Cullen did not like it.  

The Khajit stopped. “Yes, and no.”  He turned to Pel. “Is it not curious we have yet to be attacked?”

Pel sheathed her sword, rubbing her hand and shaking it.  “It is very strange. And unsettling. Something is wrong. This place is never defenseless.” She drew her sword again, then flicked her hand up, creating another glowing sphere.  “I don't recognize this door.” She looked up at it, then went to pull on the handle...except there wasn't one. “Can you open it, Durak?” She stepped back, hands on hips, and glared at the door as if doing so would make it open.

Durak grabbed some of the molding, and tried to pull on it but it still did not work. He slid his fingers in the narrow gap beneath the door, gripped it with both hands and pulled, straining against the weight of it. Slowly, it began to open.  He growled, pulling harder, and it moved a few inches, just big enough to push his poleaxe into the gap. 

Cullen was the first to hear the metal clacking on the ground behind them.  He turned. “Pel--” Ten, fifteen spiders skittered toward them, red eyes glowing, and more emerging from the dark. Each was at least the size of a mabari.  “Pel!”

Pel turned, her smile grim as she saw them. Qa’Dojo said, “Well. There they are,” and Durak looked over his shoulder and snarled before returning to the door.    

“Qa’Dojo! With me! Cullen, help Durak!”

He wanted to protest but she’d already moved away.  Qa’Dojo nodded at him, then followed Pel, and Cullen, remembering his promise to Pel, sheathed his sword and put his hands below Durak’s and pulled with all his strength.  The door moved again, but not enough to get the largest of them, Qa’Dojo, through.  

Flashes of Pel’s lightning magic lit the room behind them.  It was all he could do not to turn and watch, and run to her aid, but Durak’s growl made him focus on the door. Together they yanked, and yanked, and yanked some more until Durak yelled, “Pel!” 

“I’m a little busy here, Durak. Cullen, can you get through?” she shouted.

Only Durak’s growl at him stopped him from stepping forward.  Cullen grimaced. “The Khajit has her back always, Commander,” Durak said.  Then, Durak squeezed through the crack they’d made and pushed at the door from the other side, budging it slightly more.    

“I can,” he shouted back to Pel.

“Then go. ”

He started to go after Durak. He truly did.  But a quick glance backward, drawn by the furious clanging of metal, made him stop.  

Pel and Qa’Dojo had dispensed with most of the spiders.  She’d moved away from the Khajit, and into the darker area of the room; her lightning spell flashed and that’s when he saw it. 

She did not see. Could not see. One of the spheres she’d warned him about began to move. First arms--one in the shape of a sword, the other a crossbow--then a head popped up from the sphere.  It began to roll silently forward, readying itself to strike. 

Six more spiders suddenly appeared and the crack of lightning and clang of swords became almost deafening.  “ PELL!”

She could not hear him. She was a whirlwind of thunderbolts and sword, her face a grimace, and he saw blood marring her cheek, her arm.  She’s hurt.

Cold fury enveloped him.  He would not let her die!  He waited no longer.  He sprang forward with sword drawn, running for the sphere; he saw Pel’s flick of anger, and then her horror as she saw what was coming for her.  She had three spiders before her and the sphere in back and there was no time, there was no time .  

She leaped out of the way just as the sphere shot a bolt at her.

With a roar, hoping against hope the sphere would turn to him, he ran full-on toward it, ready to jump if it shot at him. But it was the sword that zeroed in on him; and the sphere surged forward.

Maker’s breath, the thing could move. What kind of enemies did these Dwemer have that they needed such things to guard them?

It met Cullen halfway across the room. Sword met sword in a brilliant crash. He danced around it, drawing it away from Pel; the room was cramped though, and he could not move far.  It rolled in close, sword slashing at him. He ducked just as the blade whisked for his head; it had been too long since he’d fought not for points or even first blood, but to the death.  He did not know this thing, and what it was capable of, what it would take to disarm it.

The sword was the sphere’s arm.  He struck harder, aiming for its head but it rolled backward, nearly making him lose his footing.  He chased after it, pummeling the thing’s head--it’s face eerily impassive no matter how hard he hit it--and dove for the ground as it lifted the sword high and tried to bring it down through him.

He tried to listen for Pel but it distracted him and the sphere rolled forward again, not brandishing him with its sword but trying to roll over him.  He leaped out of the way, twisting and circling and striking the back of it with a neat sideswipe. It shot backward again and sliced at him so unexpectedly that Cullen slipped on what his furious mind assumed was spider guts. 

He felt a fiery sting as the sword struck him on the side. Pain roared through him but he grit his teeth; he would not let it win. 

“Cullen!” Pel cried out.

“I’m fine!” He ran after the sphere that had retreated to a pipe-lined corner.  He saw then that he had damaged it somehow. Brownish liquid pulsed out of a crack on its side. With renewed purpose, he ignored his pain and hit that spot, again and again; the sphere twirled in place, its equilibrium failing.

He heard footsteps running for him but he dared not look. “Get ready Cullen, I’m going to hit it!”

A shout? With her crossbow?  He did not know. He braced himself for whatever she was going to do, moving to the right so he could keep bludgeoning the thing, and give her room.  

The streak of blue lightning nearly gave him pause. It hit the sphere, bursting into blue-fire arcs. Cullen struck it again and again, even after the sphere’s sword froze, useless.  With a last roar of fury, he rammed the sword straight into its face, yanking his sword out as a terrible screech burst from it as if it were a live thing.

“Cullen, fall back.”

He obeyed her, and that saved his life. A mere three feet from the sphere--he did not take his eyes off it--it suddenly exploded, sending bits of metal and liquid hurling toward him. He dove once more for the floor, this time letting his momentum carry him away from the danger, albeit over ground littered with rubble and now-dead spiders.  He came to a stop, and flopped on his back, chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face. 

It took all his strength not to scream. 

“Are they--dead?”

She knelt down on her knee beside him, reminding him of the first time they spoke. His heart began to ache.

“Yes, they are dead. You promised to do as I said, Commander.” She cast a glowy sphere above them and knelt beside him, pulling his clothes aside.   

She was... mad at him?  “I-- I’m sorry? Just thought I’d save your life for you. I love you.”

Biting her lip, she turned to Durak. “Potion!” He joined them, handing it to Cullen as he struggled to sit up. Pel pushed him down again. “I love you too, you ridiculous not-Nord.” Her eyes showed no anger, however, as she helped him drink the potion. Almost immediately he felt a little better. “We need a healer.”

“Saphielle’s a healer. Damn, this hurts.” He tried to look at his side but she made him lie down again.  

“Give the potion time to work.” She took the bottle from him and poured some on his wound, and drew the light down closer, poking at the damaged flesh.

“Ouch!”

A smile broke out and she laughed. “You are such a pup. It isn’t as deep as I thought, thank the Divines. Please, no more injuries?”

“Yes ma’am.” 

Then she fell on top of him, cradling his head and holding it still, and kissed him thoroughly. Deeply. He already couldn’t breathe and she stole his breath away. He pulled her down on top of him--he didn’t give a damn they were surrounded by dead spiders--and took her ravishing his mouth quite obediently, he thought.

“You were not supposed to get hurt,” she whispered. “I can’t bear to think of you hurt.”

“Pel. Pel,” he said, cupping her face when she pulled back. She had a cut on her cheek. “You’re hurt too.”

“Just a little.  Maybe I’ll get lucky. A scar to remind me--” She sobered suddenly. “I will not cry,” she whispered hoarsely. 

He trailed his fingers down her cheek.  "I might, for us both."

She kissed him, her lips light on his own, but they were pure heaven to him. Maker, he loved this woman. 

“Commander, if you're fit to walk, we should get going.” 

Pel started to pull up but he stopped her. "I haven't told you yet, have I?"

She eyed him curiously, then smiled. "I love you too."

"I should've said it first."

"You did," she said, "Just by the way you looked at me just then."

"Dragonborn," Durak said. 

"Fine fine, we're coming. Come on, Commander." She sat up then helped him to his feet.  He was a little dizzy, but he thought he could walk.

"Can you walk?"

"I'm fine."  They joined the others, Pel sliding easily through the door, him not so much but it wasn’t as if he wasn’t already scraped up a bit. He pulled off his glove and put his hand to his side, and pulled it out. Blood. The potion didn’t seem to have worked very well. He was still looking at his hand, when he heard a voice in a whisper. 

“Cullen. Don't move.”

He froze, slowly looking up. They were in a large room, again full of pipes, but also with a multitude of columns. This room, however, was different than the others. This room held a series of tents, made of what, Cullen couldn’t imagine. 

Skins.  Skins of...something.  It looked like insects.  It wasn’t the tents that made him forget the slice in his side, or the other various aches all over him, his exhaustion.

It was the dozen or so humanoid creatures that emerged from within those tents and faced them.  Male, female, Cullen couldn’t tell what they were without looking closely and in the dim light of Pel’s single glowy sphere he could see little beyond the things. He gripped his sword tighter.  They shuffled closer, hunched over, making disturbing noises that were answered by equally disturbing chittering somewhere in the dark but none appeared threatening.

“This Khajit would like to know something, my mate.”

“Why they aren’t attacking? Fuck if I know.  Pel?”

Pel shook her head. “They aren’t even armed.” She glanced over her shoulder at Cullen. “Falmer.”

Cullen felt sick. These were once elves? Snow elves, a once-mighty race? He pitied the creatures, even as more shuffled out from hiding, a few now brandishing weapons, even bows. “How do they see to shoot?”  

“They smell us. I’m sorry, Cullen. I don't think we’ll be able to get past them. Oh shit.”  Pel moved the glowy light to the side. On the ground were several men and women, all dressed in white, all very dead.  “The vampires. Very difficult to kill vampires.”

Qa’Dojo and Durak edged closer to the bodies, the Khajit slowly--mindful of the Falmer--lowering himself to one. He turned one over; Cullen had to turn aside at the sharp tang of blood. He was nauseous from his injury but this-- He wasn’t sure he’d want to eat again anytime soon.  

“Vampires,” Durak said in disgust. “Guess we found your Inquisitor’s captors, Cullen.”

“What could have killed them?”   

Durak hooked a thumb at the shuffling Falmer. “They did.”

Pel slipped her arm around Cullen. “Are you alright?”  

He closed his eyes and leaned on her. “Do you have another potion, perhaps?”  

They heard a shuffling sound behind the Falmer.  “Cullen?”

Stunned by that voice he knew so well--but truly was surprised to hear in this Maker-forsaken hell--Cullen nearly dropped his sword. Pel let him go so he could sheathe it.  He stared in disbelief as the Falmer parted, muttering and cringing and cowed to reveal her.

The Inquisitor appeared out of the darkness, whole and well though no doubt exhausted. She made a motion toward the Falmer and they stumbled away, disappearing into their tents. Then, she slowly walked to them, stopping, and waiting, her gaze on Pel. Cullen glanced at Pel, wondering what she was thinking. For his own part, he was stunned.  And, in no little pain.

And then Saphi threw herself into his arms. 

“Cullen,” she said. She pulled back, cradling his face, such happiness on her own fracturing his heart. She pulled him close again, her small stature forcing him down to her. It felt, for a moment, like coming home. “You came for me. I knew you would, I knew you would,” she whispered, kissing his cheek. “Thank you. Thank you. Cullen, I have so much to tell you, the things I’ve figured out--”

He swallowed hard, then pulled away.   

She released him, her surprise evident at his abruptness. He could see Pel out of the corner of his eye; she raised her eyebrow at him and that, above all else, yanked him from Saphielle’s spell. 

“Inquisitor. It is a relief to find you well.”  He glanced over her shoulder, at the Falmer. They had not moved. “I came after you because it is my duty as your Commander.”  He paused, but anger roiled through him.  Maker, his side hurt, and that didn’t help his temper.  He stepped back again. “Do you know what you have done?”  

The happiness in her eyes faded as she stared at him. “I had to come, Cullen.”

He closed his eyes briefly at that. “No. You did not. Not now, not when so much is at stake.” He sighed, rubbing his aching head.  “Did you not think that he wouldn’t try to follow you here, should he discover you were gone from Thedas? Did you not consider, for one moment, what your disappearance from Skyhold would do to the people, not to mention Leliana, Josephine, your companions?”  

He hit home with that and she bit her lower lip, lowering her gaze. “I know. I mean, after I was taken by the vampires, I had a chance to reconsider my actions.”  She looked so young then, to his eyes. Young, and driven by emotions into doing rash things. Stupid things. All because of Solas.

The others remained silent. He could feel the weight of their stares, but he stopped himself from saying more. He sighed. “I apologize, Inquisitor. My emotions are rather a mess right now. But you must understand, these people, my--” He stopped, looking at Pel. It was hard to read what she was thinking as they locked eyes, but the small dip of her head, the flick of her eyes to Saphielle, gave him the words he needed.  

“In the days since I followed you through the eluvian, I have come to know these people.” He nodded to Qa’Dojo and Durak, then turned back to the Inquisitor.  “I have come to care deeply about them. Especially one,” he said softly, his eyes locking with Pel’s. “Especially Pel.” He glanced back at Saphielle. 

There must’ve been something in his voice; his grief, his worry, the cold hard fact that he didn’t want to leave Pel, but must.  Duty.  Saphielle put one hand over her mouth, eyes widening, perhaps even tearing. She did know him well, after all. “Oh, Cullen.”

“If Corypheus finds them before we can get back to Thedas, I will never forgive either of us. We must leave this place. You must not return here, until after he is defeated. And I must not return at all.”    

Saphielle stood still for a moment, then slowly nodded.  “I am sorry, I didn’t know. I-- I didn’t mean to cause you trouble,” she said to the others.  “You are right, Commander. I didn’t think--” She stepped toward him, even as he stepped toward Pel--it was a subconscious move, but it stopped Saphielle. She straightened her shoulders. “I will apologize to everyone when I get back.” She closed her eyes, swaying slightly. He could see her exhaustion, the too-familiar burden of responsibility resting on her shoulders.  She finally looked up at him. “We will go home, and I will atone best I can.”

Cullen reeled. He was well-trained, though, and didn’t let it show. Not here, not now. Not now. Pel came to him, holding him up. How he would get down the hill like this, much less two days of riding to Solitude, he didn’t know. 

How he would leave Pel, he could not fathom. 

“Cullen says you are a spirit mage.  Is that how you control them?” Pel gestured to the Falmer, still shuffling harmlessly behind Saphielle. “How did you keep them from killing you? From killing us now?”  

“They are dangerous?”

Durak sputtered.  “What did you do to them?” 

“Yes, what did you do to them, Inquisitor?” There was no bite in Pel’s voice, no derision or anger. “Falmer kill. That is what they do. Is it that?” 

She nodded to Saphielle’s hand. It glowed faintly. “The anchor? I am not sure. They seem to sense it somehow even though it doesn't really work here. One or two touched it, curious.” Saphielle looked back at the Falmer. “They asked if I needed help and I told them yes. So they did. I can hear them--” She touched her chest. “Here. Magic works differently for me in this world. I am not even sure what I am drawing it from. I feel it more. I am a spirit mage, yes,” she said to Pel. “I am well-used to help from spirits, but they aren’t spirits. They have a language I don't understand very well, but when they talk to each other--”

“They talk? ” Pel was incredulous.

“Yes. Inside their minds. It is a lovely language I would like to study more. Eventually.” She glanced at Cullen. “They call themselves the Betrayed. I don't know. They told me many things but I understood very little of it. They were once a powerful people, and they remember those times.” She turned to the nearest one. It cocked its head at her, its fingers twitching. “I can’t help but wonder about the future of the elves in Tevinter, Commander.  Is this their fate? Is this the fate of my people too? We have already lost so much.” She touched her face, no longer half-covered by her vallaslin. “Solas was very disturbed by the Falmer. I can’t help but think their fate worried him.”

“And yet he does not appear to worry about ours.”

Saphielle shook her head. “I had hoped to convince his friend, the mage in Morthal, to tell me more. But he refused. He told me I was foolish for coming here. I suppose I am.” She glanced at Pel. “But I am glad you followed me, Commander. ” She bowed her head at Pel. “You are the Dragonborn, aren't you? The vampires told me you were coming. They don't like you much."

"The sentiment is mutual."

"I did not realize you were an elf at first. You are so tall and strong!” Saphielle smiled, and Pel raised an eyebrow.  “And a very pretty elf,” Saphielle murmured. “I look forward to hearing more about how you my Commander met, if you don't mind.”

“After we get out of here, sure. It is quite the story, your Commander literally threw himself between me and a dragon, to save me. I nearly killed him. Cullen, not just the dragon.”

Saphielle laughed. “Sounds like Cullen. He is a very valiant man.”

“Obviously. And very stubborn. He said you were a healer. Show her, Cullen.”  

“Pel,” he complained as she pulled up his shirt. “Not here.”

“What? It’s not like she hasn’t seen you naked too. And, she's a healer.” Cullen’s face flushed as she showed Saphielle his wound. “As you can see, Cullen requires your services.”

“I’m fine truly. I’d rather wait until we get to the surface.” 

Saphielle stopped him, and bent down to examine the wound.  “Stubborn? More like foolish. Step back a little please, Dragonborn.” She cast a spell over his wound, and he immediately felt relief. 

“Just Pel is fine.”

“Thank you, Pel. I don't know your companion’s names.”

Qa’Dojo stepped forward, and bowed.  “This Khajit regrets not having introduced himself. Qa’Dojo, is this Khajit’s name. The ugly one is Durak, my mate.” This time, Durak did not grumble.  “And this is Pelonia--”

“Qa’Dojo, don't. ”

But the Khajit just smiled. “Pelonia Sabrilia Attarnia; Dovahkiin, Born Hunter of Dragonkind; Eater of Souls; Voice of Thunder; Last of Her Name, and--”

“Qa’Dojo!”

He grinned, showing his sharp canines.  “And soon to be Pelonia Sabrilia Attarnia…” He glanced at Cullen. “...Rutherford.”

Saphielle stared at Cullen. “Commander? You are to be married? We’ve only been here five days.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, then forced himself to remove his hand. “Yes.” He glanced at Pel, who had her arms crossed. She was at least smiling. “She asked me to marry her, and I said yes.” 

Saphielle  hugged him again, this time...oh Maker, this time...he hugged her back, unable to deny the relief that she was safe, that he would not return to Skyhold without her. “You are coming back with us then?” she asked Pel as she released Cullen.

Pel’s eyes locked with his. “Not yet.  I must take care of some things here. But yes, I will come join Cullen as soon as I can.”

“Good. I am so glad. And Cullen? You will not make her stay in your quarters. I’ll have the corner tower fixed up for you both.” She grinned happily at Pel. “Just give me enough time to have it done.”

Cullen interrupted. “We can discuss this further outside. Can you make them let us through Inquisitor? Or should we go back the way we came?”

“This Khajit suggests we go back the way we came.”

Saphielle nodded toward Pel. “Dragonborn, if you would lead us from this Maker-forsaken place, I would be most appreciative. I am so very ready to see the sky again.”  

Chapter Text

“Should I be worried?” Cullen asked Qa'Dojo as he watched the two women riding ahead. It was quite late, darkness had fallen, and the skies were magnificent but he could barely keep his eyes open. They were still some ways from the inn. At least Saphielle had seen to it that his injuries no longer pained him.   

Pel laughed as Saphielle waved a hand about, explaining something.  Maker only knew what that something could be, but likely it was about him. “I have never been in this position before.”

Qa’Dojo chuckled.  “This Khajit suggests perhaps they merely plot the demise of each of their nemesis?” He paused as Pel laughed again. “No. This Khajit thinks you should be worried.”

Cullen smiled; he supposed it could’ve been far worse than it was.  Saphielle was safe, and uninjured. She’d been thrilled for him and Pel, and Pel seemed to like her despite what they had in common, once--him.  

Pel turned, and catching his eye, waved Cullen forward.  “You might wish to come defend yourself. 

Glancing at Qa’Dojo, Cullen said, “See?” He urged his mount forward and, to his surprise, Saphielle held hers back to let them ride together alone. The minute he was back at Pel’s side, he felt immeasurable relief.  She leaned toward him and he did the same, managing to kiss her despite the horses’ untimely shying away. 

“You look worried, Commander.”

Cullen shrugged. “Should I be?”

“Perhaps…”  She reached for his hand, taking it. They were close enough to Solitude now that they’d removed their gloves.  She entwined her fingers with his, squeezing them. “I like her. Your Inquisitor, I mean.” She cast him an amused look. “Don't look so surprised. We aren’t that different from each other, you know.”

“How?”

She smiled and looked ahead. “We both have excellent taste in men. Human men, that is.” 

She laughed as he sighed, running his hand through his too-curly hair. “I am glad. I think.” He said nothing for a moment, then said. “No. I am glad. She is a good person.”

“And as much a romantic as me. She is hurting though, Cullen. And she’s terribly young.”

“Only twenty-one.”

“And you’re what?”

His face heated. “I don't even know how old you are.”

“I am thirty-one.”

“I am thirty.”

“I am almost thirty-two. My birthday is in a few months.”  

“And I am a very lucky man,” he said softly.  He brought her fingers to his lips, then rubbed them over his cold cheeks.  A shudder of impending loss rushed through him. He squeezed her hand, holding onto it as if he feared to let go. Perhaps, he did.  He was glad his horse didn’t depend on him to guide her, as he couldn’t see the road. “I am sorry,” he whispered.“I don't want this to end.”  

“I don't either.” She squeezed his hand, making him look at her. The late-afternoon sun broke through the trees in its descent, shining its light on her. Her eyes shimmered with determination.“It won’t.  I will send you home with your Inquisitor, and I will do everything in my power to join you as soon as I can.” Her eyes softened. “Saphielle has promised us a tower, remember?”

“It will have to wait on you to fix it. I am terrible at decorating.”

“So I hear. Really, Cullen. A hole in your roof? For how long?”

Cullen laughed. “What else did Saphielle tell you?”

Pel shook her head. “Nope, not going to tell you. Except for one thing.”

“Oh?” 

“She said you are the best human she’s ever known, that she’s ever cared about. She is very, very glad you and I found each other, but she still apologized--again--for dragging you here. She truly never meant to cause you grief.” 

“I can’t very well be angry about that, anymore.” He looked up at the sky. The moons were rising, filling him with foreboding.  “She still has not told me what she really sought here.”

“Nor did she tell me. She did tell me something interesting, though. The Falmer saved her from the vampires, but none of us remembered to ask her why the vampires wanted her. She told me they intended to make her the new arch-curate. We killed the last one. He was a snow elf. They saw her as the answer.”

“The answer to what?”

“They saw her as their queen returned. She promised to return to them, Cullen.” When he started to protest, she squeezed his hand. “She promised to help them return to the light.”

“Is that even possible?”

She shrugged. “I don't know, but Saphielle says someday, she would bring them home.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.  She gets ideas into her head that aren’t always the best.”

The smile Pel gave him made his heart flutter. “I hope you don't regret the one that brought her here.”

“Never,” he said, bringing her gloved hand to his lips, and rubbing it across his cheek. When the Inquisitor giggled behind him he found he didn’t care. All his feelings for Saphielle had swayed into affection; she was his Inquisitor, and he her Commander.  He didn’t regret what they  had had, but Maker, he was so, so very glad of where he was now. With Pel. 

But had he told her that? He stopped his horse in the middle of the road.  

Pel’s brows furrowed. She looked back at the others. “Go on ahead. The inn is just around the corner.” The others did as she bade them, Saphielle grinning as she clucked at her horse and passed them. 

Cullen flushed. “You didn't have to do that.”

“You looked like you had something to say you might not want others to hear.”

He shifted on his horse, dipping his head. “I wouldn’t have minded. I just wanted to say--I love you, Pel.”

“I know that,” she said. 

He shook his head. “No, I meant--”

She raised her eyebrow at him. “What do you mean then?”

“I am not very good at this.  I love you. I have never been in love before, though I thought-- No. I never have. I never thought this was possible,” he said softly, sliding off his horse.  Though she still had that puzzled look on her face, she slid off her horse as well. He pulled her into his arms, not caring they were sandwiched between their horses on an icy road surrounded by snow-laden trees. The night cloaked them, the stunning skies bathing them with an eerie, though beautiful light.  

He took her face in his gloved hands, studying it as if to memorized--no, to memorize everything about her, her freckles, the once-intimidating war paint, the fullness of her lips… “Oh Pel, I wish I could make time stand still for us. If it were only in my power.”

She placed her hands over his. “I wish we could leap to the future, when all this--this duty was done. I’m going to miss you so much.” Tears had gathered on her lashes; he kissed them away.  

“I will miss you too. But know this--we will get through this. Both of us. We will survive this.”  He stilled, then tore off his glove and reached into his pocket. Yes, still there. He pulled out the small coin; she looked at him inquisitively.  “I want you to have this.”

“A coin?”

“My brother gave me this when I left for Templar training. It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck. I wasn’t… Templars weren’t supposed to have such things.”

“But you kept it.”

“Yes. I want you to have it. It’s a simple thing, I realize--”

Pel covered his hand with her own. “A simple coin from you means more to me than all the riches of the world, Cullen.” 

“We don't know what you will face in the days to come. I can’t be there with you, but a little luck can’t hurt.”

She took the coin, turning it over to look at both sides. “I will return it to you, someday,” she said, a fierceness and determination in her words that Cullen loved to hear. 

“I know.” A flurry of snow carried on wind buffeted them. “We should get to the inn before the others send out a search party for us.”

She slid the coin into pocket, then hesitated. “Cullen.”

“Yes love?”

“I love you, too.”

“Commander,” the Inquisitor called from behind them. “Look!” 

Cullen looked up to where Saphielle pointed. High ahead of them Solitude rose in her magnificence upon the arch. Both a thrill and dread filled him at the sight.

“That’s Solitude, Inquisitor.” 

Saphielle trotted up beside them and leaned forward in the saddle, her gaze fixed on their destination.  “Amazing.” She wiggled her fingers. “It is so magnificent! Can I see the palace before we go home? I would love to meet the Queen!”

“She’s a jarl, not a queen,” Cullen said.  

Saphielle sighed. “She leads Skyrim. That’s a queen to me, Commander.  How much longer ‘til we reach it? I cannot wait to see the museum and talk with your uncle, Pel. Do we really have to walk all the way up that hill? Why won’t they allow horses inside the city?”

“Suddenly,” Pel murmured, “I am reminded of Lucien for some reason.” To Saphielle she said, “Would you like to see it from my favorite spot?”

“Oh yes! That would be lovely.” Saphielle grinned; she was, Cullen understood, happy to being close to getting home. 

But her every smile pulled him deeper into sadness as his time with Pel grew shorter and shorter. They’d not slept much the night before-- That memory made him smile, and his face flush.

“What were you thinking about just then?” Pel asked him. She’d guided them to the shore; already Saphielle was off her horse and stood on a rock up at the city.  “Sore, Commander?”

“I--”  He glanced at Saphielle but thankfully her attention was on the view before them.  He glanced back at Pel. “Yes.”

Qa’Dojo chuckled, his tail twitching.

He had to admit, though, once he and Pel joined Saphielle, this was a remarkable view of Solitude.  

“It is truly beautiful, Dragonborn,” Saphielle said. She turned to Pel.  “I should like to come back someday, if I may.” She bit her lip. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that I inconvenienced you so much.” She glanced at Cullen. “I know it all turned out okay? But I was stupid and rash and--” She closed her eyes, dropping her head. “But I was hurting. I--”

Pel stopped her, touching her hand. “I understand. Cullen told me about what happened. And please, just Pel?”

Saphielle smiled sadly. “Of course.” She glanced at Cullen again, then drew closer to Pel, taking her hand in both hers. Pel’s eyes widened. “I promise you I will do everything, everything I can to make sure Cullen will be there for you.”

“Saphi--” Cullen started to say but her face hardened.

“No, Commander.” She turned back to Pel, squeezing her hands. “I am so happy you found each other.” She smiled briefly. “And very glad you didn’t kill my Commander.” Pel huffed at that. “But I am very serious about this.” She drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t much compared to Pel but the power that radiated from Saphielle couldn’t be denied. She pulled her hands free, and pulled off her glove. The Anchor glowed in her palm, bathing both women’s face in green. “I feel it tugging me back.  I couldn’t yesterday, or any of the days before. I am so sorry I must take him with me. But I can’t do this without him. Just as you must defeat Alduin alone, I must defeat Corypheus with the help of my team. I need him. But I will protect him with everything I am. I am sorry.” Saphielle clenched her first. “I will not fail in this.”

Cullen held his breath in wonder, his heart swelling with pride for his Inquisitor.  “You will not fail, Inquisitor. You have my word.”

Pel’s nod was slow, thoughtful, but she didn’t take her eyes off the Inquisitor. “I believe you. I believe in you both.” Her eyes glimmered and she took a deep breath. “I am glad we found you safe, Inquisitor.”

Saphielle grinned, shaking her finger at Pel. “No no, if I have to call you Pel you have to call me Saphi. Right?” 

Pel half-bowed. “Yes, Saphi. Thank you.” Then Pel hugged her.  

He couldn’t hear what she whispered to Saphi but the Inquisitor’s expression sobered. “Thank you,” she said as she pulled away.

“We need to get going,” Pel said.  

As they headed back to the road, Cullen had to know what she’d said to Saphielle. “What did you say to her?”

Pel reached for his hand. “Sometimes, Commander, there are things you don't need to know.”    

By the time they made it back to the main road, the Inquisitor had fallen silent. Though she’d been literally in the dark for several days, she was exhausted and half asleep in her saddle.  When they reached the dragon bridge, however, she perked up. Cullen prepared for another onslaught of questions--she truly was the elven female version of Lucien--but she remained silent as she rode next to him, her eyes wide with wonder.

Durak and Qa’Dojo had gone ahead to alert the stables they were coming.  As such, by the time they’d crossed over the dragon bridge, the same two children as before were waiting for them.

The little girl waved. “Hi Commander! I’ll take your horse for you!”

“You have a fan, Commander?”  Saphielle slid down off her horse. The boy raced up and took the reins from her.  “You did make friends here.”

“I-- uh…”  The little girl beamed at him.  “I suppose I have,” he said, handing over his horse.  He ran his hand down the mare’s neck. “Thank you,” he murmured to the mare, as Pel joined him. “I think I’ll miss her.”

Pel took his hand in hers as the mare bumped her head against his shoulder.  The goodbyes had started. 

“See you later, Commander!” the little girl yelled after him.  He could do nothing but wave, the lump in his throat persistent now.

They walked in silence, hand in hand, up the hill, each step taking them closer to the end. Saphielle followed behind; he could imagine what the Inquisitor must think of him acting like a sixteen-year-old again, but then… Perhaps he was wrong.  He stopped and looked behind them.

“Inquisitor, are you alright?”

She nodded, brushing her hair back. “I am fine. Commander.” Her gaze drifted to Pel. “Please, go on. I will follow. We don't have much time left.” 

Her words ripped through him, but he nodded. “Thank you.”  He let Pel pull him forward. 

At least, he thought as they passed through the gates with only a nod from the attentive guards, they could have one more night. One more night to hold Pel, to make love to her, and she him. He had to admit, he rather liked that commanding side of her.  He wanted more. He wanted that more than breathing, but a voice cut through his thoughts as they walked on, ending his hopes.

“Pel! You’re back!” Lucien almost tumbled out of the Winking Skeever, a sloshing tankard in his hand.  “I’ve been watching for you. We found it!”  

Pel turned to Cullen, grasping his hand with both of her own.  “Cullen--”

“I know, love.” He put his arm around her, drawing her close. Never mind those staring at him, wondering who was holding the Dragonborn--his Pel--so intimately.  

“I hate this,” she whispered. “Hate, hate, hate this.”

“As do I.”  

Lucien looked at them, grinning happily--and then Elian appeared behind him, frowning, and whispered in his ear.  “What? Oh.” His face flushed. “Oh. I’m sorry, I mean I--” His shoulders slumped. “We brought it back with us, Elian and I. It was high up in a crevice, Commander. It is a wonder you didn’t kill yourself, falling out of it like you did.” He looked from Cullen to Saphielle, who had appeared beside Pel. “Are you the Inquisitor?” His eyes grew round. “You are a snow elf!”

Saphielle hesitated, then smiled at Lucien. “I am the Inquisitor, yes, but please call me Saphielle.”

He blinked.  “I, yes ma’am, your Inquisiteness. Saphielle.”

Cullen laughed quietly as Pel groaned. “Lucien. Enough.” She drew in her breath. “The mirror is at the museum?”

He nodded. “Yes, my instructions to you from Auryen--and I guess to you too, Saphielle--are to take you to it straight away.”  He looked them over. “But maybe you’d want to clean up first? You are all a fright!”

He was not ready for this.  He simply was not ready to return home.  

Duty.

It weighed on him as he pulled Pel into the shower, as he marveled again at the perfectly-heated water that cascaded down their bodies. Neither spoke--there was nothing left to say that hadn’t been said before--as they washed each other, hands roaming freely over slick bodies, gently worshipping that which would soon be taken from them.  Cullen tried his best to drink in every moment, every touch, every kiss they shared.  

She washed his hair for him, fingers twirling in his curls, and he did the same for her, then pulled her against him, his hardness thrumming between them. She turned, allowed herself to be picked up and pushed against the shower’s wall as he entered her, mouths joining as their hearts irrevocably entwined.

“I love you. I love you so damn much,” he murmured against her mouth before thrusting harder into her.  She buried her face in his neck, clenching hard against him, her powerful legs wrapping around his hips.  He came quickly--too quickly--his moans mingling with his cries as tears blended with the water cascading down his face.  She slid down on shaking legs and he fell to his knees, his mouth seeking and finding her hot center; she dug her fingers into his scalp as she shuddered against his tongue.  When she came, a cry of despair and aching need traveled through her and he rode the wave of passion with her until she was spent.

He stood then, staring at her, at a loss for words as the shower ran dry.  He started to say something, anything, but she shook her head, touching one finger to his lips.  

“We’d best get ready.”

He nodded even as sorrow seared his heart.

Too soon, they were dressed. Once again, Auryen had magically cleaned his clothes, somehow making them look almost new.  Pel put on her fine clothes and pulled her still-damp hair up, soft tendrils falling down her face. Before they left their rooms--he for the last time--he stopped Pel, kissing her fingers, kissing her cheek, her lips. 

He brushed one of the tendrils away, tucking it behind her pointed ear. “You are so beautiful.  What have I done to deserve you?”

“Not be a Nord, for one.”

He laughed, kissing her. Grateful, so very grateful they’d found each other.  He would thank the Maker every day for this. And, thank Rylen too--though it was painful, he would never, ever regret letting his Dragonborn steal a piece of his soul.

Saphielle waited for them, standing in the dining room’s archway. She too was dressed in her regular clothes, a new staff--Cullen assumed a gift from Auryen--in her hand. She smiled at them both.  

“Cullen, Pel, you will follow me.”

They looked at each other. Pel shrugged on shoulder. “We have been commanded, Commander.” 

Saphielle motioned toward the back of the museum, and led them through the main gallery, and up some stairs. Cullen had had little chance to explore the museum--he’d been too busy with Pel--but his curiosity was swiftly sated when Saphielle stopped at a door. She turned to them.

“Commander-- Cullen,” she amended, “I made a very poor decision when I threw myself into the eluvian. Actually that was an incredibly terrible decision.  But I am grateful to you, Commander, for following after me. That was a very brave thing to do. Had you not, I fear what would’ve happened. I could've ended up a vampire. I would not have cared for that.” She shook her head. “I was a fool. And I am sorry. I know this won’t make up for what you went through Cullen, and what-- What you must do, but I hope this helps.”

She pushed open the door, stepping to the side as she did.

“My dear niece, Commander, please come join me.” 

Cullen stared at Pel’s uncle waiting at the top a small dias. He held the box holding their rings in his hand.  The others--Lucien, Elian, Durak, and Qa’Dojo, stood to the side. They all were dressed like Pel in fine clothes.  

The perimeter of the room was guarded by full sets of armor, each one unique, each masked face turned toward them to bear witness to what was about to take place.  Someone had decorated a few of the weapons they held with golden ribbons. There were flowers in baskets everywhere. Dozens and dozens of flowers; some Cullen recognized from their travels across Skyrim. And candles--so many candles--sat on every available surface. This was no Chantry, but it was beautiful.

“Pel, I think we’re about to get married.”

She grinned up at him--a beautiful sight to see. “Think so?”

Auryen bowed. “Cullen Rutherford, Pelonia Sabrilia Attarnia…”

“Stop there, Uncle. Please?”  

Auryen chuckled, motioning them forward.

It all passed in a daze. Cullen listened, though he could not understand the words Auryen spoke. Some sort of elvish, he assumed. He only knew for certain they were lovely.  His focus was only on Pel. He was handed her ring, and he slid it on her finger--her right index finger as they did in Tamriel. She did the same for him. The weight of it surprised him, but it felt good. Very good, and very right.    

And then it was done.  He pulled Pel close and kissed her. It almost felt a dream, and over the lonely nights ahead he would replay it all in his mind, sometimes uncertain it had truly happened save for the proof he wore on his finger.  She fit him so perfectly.  They melded into each other, and for a moment, he felt whole.

“Dragonborn!”

They both turned--they all turned--as a young boy tore into the room and almost fell down. Qa’Dojo leaped for him, and held him up.

“Henry! What is it?” Auryen said, rushing for the boy. “Is it your mother?”

The boy gasped, shaking his head.. “Dragon. Dragon! A fire dragon at Dragon Bridge! Coming this way!”

Time stopped, but this was no magic of Pel’s cast over him.  This was the end. He could hear the roar of the dragon overhead, a deep rumble shaking the building.  Already he could see her withdraw, her face hardening into that mask she kept solely for slaying dragons. 

She stepped back. “I have to go,” she whispered, her hands dropping from his. 

“I know.”

“You will be there when I come to you?”

“I will. Even if I have to wait forever, and even if I have to leave Skyhold, I will come back every year on this day until you come home.”

“Home. I’d like that.” She smiled sadly at him. “Duty first, right?” He could only nod, his throat thick with grief.  She threw herself into his arms even as they heard screams and shouts and others poured into the museum, calling her name, calling the Dragonborn to come save them.

“Duty first,” he whispered, kissing her one last time. 

They pulled apart and she took a step back, whirled around and ran for the door.  “A sword! I need a sword!”

Then she was gone, followed by Auryen, Lucien, Durak, and last, Qa’Dojo, with the boy in his arms.  “I will watch over her, my friend. This Khajit will always have her back.” Then he too was gone.

It wasn’t until Saphielle’s hand rested on his shoulder that Cullen realized he’d fallen to his knees. Tears cascaded down his face; he wiped them away, the ring he now wore scraping across his cheek. 

“Commander. We must go now. I am sorry.”

“How will I go on without her, Inquisitor?”

She stayed silent for a moment, then said, her voice soft, and kind, and much older than her years, “Because you must. We have a world to save too, Commander, and we must do our duty. And you must do your duty to her. You gave her yourself, someone to live for. You promised you would wait for her. We need to make sure that promise you made is never broken.”

Slowly, Cullen rose to his feet and nodded, and let her lead him back through the eluvian, and home.  

Chapter Text

Saphielle sat on the stone bench, frowning at the apple she held. Despite the loss of her hand, she’d become fairly deft at managing life with only the one. She found it therapeutic, she’d told Cullen, to take out her frustrations by cutting up things--her victims, in this case, were a bunch of apples.    

“Darling, perhaps it would be easier if you let me hold the apples while you cut them?”  Sutherland swung their daughter off his back, making her squeal. “Sit here with mama.”  

“No, no, I haven’t quite got the spell right, but I’m getting close,” she said, muttering as she placed another apple on the table. She flicked her fingers at it, and it squashed flat as if someone had stepped on it, sending apple bits flying. What was left was a mound of crushed apple.  Their daughter laughed, clapping her hands.

Saphielle sighed. “Maybe I should just say I meant to do that?”

“Could use it to make a pie, maybe.”  Sutherland swiped a finger through the mess and tasted it, his eyes lighting up. “It’s good! Maybe call it...applesauce?”  

Cullen leaned on his rake, watching the young couple with no little envy as Sutherland kissed his wife on her forehead. She tilted her head up, smiling at him with unabashed love.  Cullen sighed, returning to his own work. But, not before he saw Saphielle’s attention turn to him. He nodded; she understood.  

He attacked the weeds as if they were darkspawn.  He and Saphielle had made their peace years before, and he would even say they were friends now. Very good friends. When the elves began to disappear from Thedas, she’d asked if her family could join him in his work.  He had, of course, said yes. She was the only person in all of Thedas who had met Pel, understood his grieving. She never told him to get over it, to find someone else, to accept Pel was gone.  

It’d been nearly five years since he'd walked through the damn eluvian, and each day was as difficult as the previous.  

Cullen realized with a start he’d stopped raking. Worse, he’d stopped mid-motion. He’d been doing that more and more lately, as the anniversary of his return to Skyhold drew near.  Saphielle and Sutherland chattered behind him, while Cullen took the moment to survey his farm. After the Exalted Council, and Saphielle had officially disbanded the Inquisition--though not her never-ending search for Solas--he’d been surprised to learn he’d become a rich man.  

While Commander, he’d worried little about money, except where it pertained to his soldiers, and the adequate provisioning of Skyhold and Saphielle while she was on missions. So to discover Josie had very methodically invested his money, making it grow as if she were a money mage--which made her laugh--had been a shock to him.  He was stunned to realize he could afford to buy not just one small farm but the lands south of Denerim stretching all the way to the Amaranthine. He’d immediately petitioned Alistair to allow him to purchase the land.

The King had been incredulous as it wasn’t the best of land, and quite rocky, but Cullen had a plan.  Over the following two years, not only had he created a farm for recovering Templars to work, but he’d invited mages too.  Given the chance, the mages who had been convinced to come--force mages, healers, mages who had discovered talents they’d never dreamed could be theirs--all set to work with great enthusiasm, creating a sustainable farm.  

And not just a farm.  A village and market had sprung up without any planning on his part, and though he protested the name--Rutherford Village--Mia had smacked him, told him to shut up and accept the honor. He did.

There were, as he’d promised Pel, pigs.  She’d been right, they were fascinating creatures, trotting after the mabari pups as they played, a half dozen children always seeming to follow.  

His brother and Rylen helped him run the place, and as he'd wished, Rylen no longer took lyrium.  Instead, he took Branson as his husband.  And, much to Cullen’s amusement, the newly-married couple had almost immediately adopted countless orphans.  They were surrounded by the anklebiters Rylen had once teasingly threatened Cullen with. 

How he hoped someday he’d have one of his own. 

Cullen was proud of what had been accomplished. And yet, there were days he could barely look at it.  Despite everything, the crops, the animals, the people who now made Rutherford Village their home, it was as empty to him as his heart.  

He missed her.  How he missed her.   Without Pel, this meant nothing to him. Without Pel, his beautiful, amazing wife, it hurt to breathe some days. Especially around so much joy. He would sit and watch the others, happy for the goodness in their lives, that they could enjoy the peace that had settled on these lands, and wish he could be a part of it, but he could not.

Saphielle understood, but with her little one, and Sutherland--that partnership had been a great surprise--and another child on the way, she had no time to listen to him. Truly, only the King himself understood his pain; Alistair too had lost the love of his life, through duty no less. But recently, Cullen had been surprised to discover a certain former Crow had brought a new twinkle to the King’s eyes.  

He was happy for Alistair. And, for Zevran as well--the former assassin was a good man. 

“Commander, sir.”

Cullen sighed, and said without bothering to look over his shoulder, “Rylen, will you ever stop calling me Commander? Or sir?”

Rylen grinned. “I doubt it. At least you know without looking who’s coming up behind you.”

“True.”  

Rylen stood beside him, folding his arms across his chest.  Neither spoke for a long moment, though Cullen knew there was plenty on Rylen’s mind.  “What is it,” he finally asked.

“Why are you raking now?  You do realize that after today, the weeds will still need raking, and others will be doing it. Or I’ll set the anklebiters on them.”

“They’d just pull out the plants.”

Rylen chuckled. Cullen looked down at the rake that he gripped in his right hand. His wedding ring glimmered in the sun, the little lion’s eyes flashing.  An intense stab of almost physical pain smashed its way through him, making him suck in his breath. He bowed his head, shaking it, fighting to breathe.  

Rylen wrapped his arm around Cullen’s shoulders.  “Cullen, hey. Look at me.” Cullen fought to do so through tear-filled eyes. Rylen squeezed his shoulder, but didn’t let go until Cullen gathered himself.   

“I’m sorry. I just--”  Cullen rubbed his eyes, taking a shuddering breath.  “I miss her so much. I can’t bear this.”

“I know you miss her. But you can bear this.  You’re a strong man, but it is no surprise that it has taken its toll. You’ll get through this.” 

“Like I always do.  I know I have to have hope. But, Maker, Rylen. How can I go on like this? Not knowing what happened to her? It’s been almost five years.”  He closed his eyes, leaning on his friend. “Five years of not knowing. Did she survive? Will I truly never see her again?  This time, when I go back to Skyhold, will I find my letters untouched yet again? Why hasn’t she come to me?”

“I wish I knew.  Are you sure you shouldn’t just go look for her yourself?”

Cullen shook his head. “I am sure. I promised her I would wait, as long as it took.” He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I never imagined it would be so long.”

“I am sorry.  Sometimes I feel guilty, having what you wanted.”

Cullen smiled at that, pulling away from Rylen, only to put his hand on Rylen’s shoulder.  He’d broken down enough for one day. “I am glad you do, even if it is with my baby brother. It is good to see him so happy, though, and I suppose you are good for him.”

Rylen laughed, elbowing Cullen. “He’s even better for me. Who would’ve thought a researcher could be so--creative? I don't know where he finds those books, but I’m glad of it.”

“Maker’s breath, Rylen,” Cullen said, huffing. “I really don't need to know these...things.”

“Our favorite techniques? Sir?”

Cullen shook his head.  “Maker, have mercy on me…  Are you ready to leave?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve packed, the horses have been reshod, and I’ve sent the message to Skyhold when to expect us.”

“Good.”  Cullen’s chest still ached--it did, always--but knowing they would leave in the morning helped a little.  With Rylen going with him, and Branson running the farm, he should at least try to enjoy himself. “I am ready also. Leave at dawn?”

“Aye, sir. I’d best be getting back to Branson.  He’s no doubt repacked my bag twice since I left him.”  

Cullen watched Rylen as he walked away.  With a heavy sigh, the sadness creeping back into him, he headed for the hut he called his own. He refused to build a proper home until Pel came back to him. It was early yet, but he was tired, so intended an early night. 

Whenever Cullen made his yearly pilgrimage to leave the stack of letters he wrote to Pel over the prior months, he tried to arrive a few days before their anniversary even though time passed differently for her. Still, it meant something to him to be there for that day. This year, though, bad weather waylaid them, making them hole up in Redcliffe. It was another ten days of travel once they were free to continue on their journey, and Cullen had grown more and more agitated as they failed to regain the ground they lost.

At last, at long-blessed last, they were crossing the great bridge that led to Skyhold’s main gates.  High upon the battlements, soldiers carried out their duties, though once he, Rylen--and Brak--were spied, all decorum was lost and the soldier waved a cheerful hello.

Cullen’s horse pranced sideways, responding to the tightening of his grip; he tried to relax, but it was impossible. Instead, he jumped off his horse halfway across the bridge, tossing the reins to a soldier who had run up to greet them. 

The soldier grabbed the horse, and saluted. “Welcome back, Commander, sir.”

Cullen nodded.  Here, he would not correct the soldiers no longer under his command. Cloaking himself under the mantle of Commander was something he could hold onto, a role he did not have to think about becoming.  And, he couldn’t think. All he could do was leave Rylen to follow. He knew where Cullen was headed.

It was late afternoon when they arrived, close to dinnertime; as he walked through the gates, he could smell the unmistakable aroma of baking bread.  He wasn’t hungry though; he’d lost his appetite days before. A mistake, of course, not eating; he wasn’t as young as he’d once been, and he felt weaker than he should as he trotted up the stairs. 

He glanced inside the great hall before going in; a lone woman was sweeping the floors.  No one was here, he had to remind himself. Only the barest of crews, watched over by Lace Harding.  Not Leliana, not Josie… He wasn’t sure where Cassandra was. He’d tried to find her, hoping she would at least come visit the new farm--his success in getting off lyrium had been in no small part thanks to her--but no one knew where she was.  Not even Varric who had returned to Kirkwall and was rolling out book after book now that he had time to devote solely to writing. 

Cold, the bitter cold so unique to Skyhold, settled in his bones as he headed inside; even his wedding ring had chilled. He’d stopped wearing gloves years ago, unable to hide the ring from his sight.  He rubbed it now with his thumb.    

There was a young woman in the garden, kneeling on the ground and pulling weeds. She looked up as Cullen approached. 

“Oh, sir. I’m sorry, you’re not allowed in here.”

That stopped Cullen in his tracks. He stared at her in surprise. “Excuse me?”

She stood, brushing the dirt off his knees.  “Sorry, sir.” She pointed to the bushes. “We’re growing some rare specimens, and a few weeks ago, someone trampled some of them even though we’d locked the garden.”  Brak trotted over to one of the plants. “No shoo-- is that your dog? Sir, don't let him bother that, I’ve just got them growing again.”

“Brak!” Cullen signaled for the mabari to come to him.  Brak whined again before sighing, as only a mabari can sigh, and returned to Cullen.  Instead of obediently sitting at his feet, though, Brak wound around him, and tried to push him forward.

“What has got into you, boy?”

Brak whined again, then wandered off, nose to the ground.  Turning to the young woman, Cullen asked, “Surely you discovered who did it?”

She frowned. “Can’t say we did. No one confessed to it, anyway. Not many of us here during the winter.”

Brak moved toward the eluvian room.  He lifted his head and howled, then started barking at the door, scratching at it.

“Sir! Your mabari, has he gone mad?”  

“I am not certain.” He headed for Brak, but the girl grabbed his arm.

“You can’t go in there.”

Cullen pushed down the sudden flare of anger. “Do you know who I am?”

“Doesn’t matter. There’s something very valuable in here and Captain Harding told me let no one except the Commander in. I locked it after the plants got trampled.”

Time stopped. Cullen stared at Brak, then turned toward the young woman, shock coursing through him.  He couldn’t move for a moment; his heart thumped wildly, his breath, he couldn’t breathe. Dizziness made him stumble and the world began to tilt.  

“Pel,” he whispered, covering his face with his hands.  He fought to compose himself, the reeling spinning tumbling sorrow shredded to pieces and replaced by fury.  He dropped his hands. “Open that door.”

“I-- I told you sir…”

A woman’s voice cut through the silence. “You locked the door?”  Hurried footsteps headed for them. Still reeling, Cullen turned and saw Lace Harding, her eyes dancing with anger as she approached.  

“Yes ma’am, you said to keep people out of the garden--”

“I said to keep people out, except for the Commander.”

“The-- Commander?” The young woman’s eyes widened as she stared from Harding to Cullen and back again. 

“Pel…”  Cullen closed his eyes as blood rushed to his face. A wave of prickly heat passed through him. “She was here. She was here and I missed her,” he whispered hoarsely, covering his burning face with his hands.   

Other footsteps approached just as his knees buckled.

“Sir! ”  Rylen was there then, holding him up. “What’s wrong?”

“She was here.” He clutched at Rylen. “She was here and she was locked out.”

“What? Captain Harding? What is going on here?” Rylen demanded.

“Stupidity. Open the door, Nerrin. Now.” The gardener pulled the keys out of her pocket and hurried to the door. 

“Rylen. She was here. I’m certain of it.”

“Easy sir. Can you stand? You always forget this altitude is hell on you at first,” he chided softly. He hauled Cullen back to his feet. “If she was here, that means she is alive.”

Cullen jerked his head up. He swallowed against the bile in his throat, realizing that Rylen was right.  He had to pull himself together, focus-- She was alive. Hope flooded him for the first time in months. Years.  

Brak growled at the young woman as she fumbled at the door. She dropped the keys, once, twice, and Harding went over and took the keys herself. “Leave us. We will speak later about this,” she said, and the young woman fled.

Brak ran to him, and back into the eluvian’s room. The others faded from his vision; all he could see as he walked into the room--a room that, Maker help him, had been locked for who knew how long--was the eluvian, and the closed basket in front of it.

He was only vaguely aware of Rylen talking to Harding. Cullen pushed into the room; it was dark, cloaked with shadows.  “Candles,” Cullen barked, sorely wishing as he had many times over the past years that he knew Pel’s glowy light spell. 

The eluvian glowed faintly, as it always did. A lamp was brought in and he approached the eluvian, wishing it could somehow tell him if he was right.  He stopped in front of it, his gaze falling on the basket at its base. He could barely breath as he fell to his knees, opened the basket. 

Empty.

“She took them with her.” He covered his face his hands, his emotions reeling. Pel was alive. She’d been here, and took the letters with her. 

Rylen lay his hand on his shoulder, then frowned. “Sir? That’s…a spider?”

Cullen looked up, a strangled laugh escaping as he saw metal legs waving from the basket’s edge, then pull itself up and over. It plopped to the ground, then fell still  “Yes it is. She left it for me.” 

Harding joined them. She knelt down to stare at it just as Cullen touched it, making it skitter sideways. Hardin jerked back. “A spider? It’s alive!”

“No. Not really. It’s a Dwemer mechanical spider.”

Harding frowned, looking at it again as its legs started wiggling.  “Dwemer? That’s… I’ve heard that term before. Dwarves?” Her eyes lit up as he nodded. “Too bad Dagna’s not here. She would love this. Why did your wife leave it here?”

“Sir, it could be a message to you."

Did he dare hope Rylen was right? He forced himself to his feet. The spider’s lights flashed.

“Sir, your ring!”

Startled, Cullen looked down at his wedding ring. Where moments before it had been as cold as his devastated heart, the ring now glowed, the lion’s eyes brightening into a fiery red that matched the spider’s lights. The spider tapped across the stone floor toward him and he knelt, holding out his hand.  The spider’s legs tapped his fingertips, then moved with almost surreal precision up to the ring.  

“What is it doing?” 

They all watched, mesmerized as a tiny whirring sound came from the spider, and one of the gears on its body moved.  A single antenna popped out, then a second, both waving for a moment before zeroing in on his ring. Cullen held his breath, confusion and uncertainty melting into hope as the antenna tapped on the lion. The spider’s red lights suddenly flashed green; the lion’s eyes flashed in kind.

The spider reared back, front legs waving, and before any of them could move, before Cullen could even think, the spider whirled around and zoomed with uncanny speed for the eluvian, and disappeared.

“Well. That was odd,” Harding said, straightening. “Maybe it went to tell your wife you’re here?”

Could it be? Was she on the other side, waiting for him?

Dare he go after the spider? You promised to wait.  

“Pel?” he whispered, then more loudly as the eluvian began to shimmer again. “Pel?”

Seconds later a bright light flooded the room; the eluvian shimmered, undulated, divided; and a woman Cullen had thought he would never see again, who he believed he’d lost forever, stumbled into the room. Brak barked happily, prancing around the woman, making her look down in surprise.  She drew herself up, staring wildly at them all before settling on Cullen.

Then she grinned. “So, this is a mabari?”

He couldn't breathe, much less speak. He cleared his throat, finally forcing out a single word. “Yes.”

“If you got your mabari, That means you got me a pig!”

"I-- Yes. I got you a-- Yes. Pel." He choked, unable to speak, his throat was so tight. "Is it really you?" 

She walked up to him, touching his face with a frown. He’d started to tremble, unsure what to do. He raised a shaking hand to hers and her eyes widened. “Cullen, love, it’s okay. It’s me. I’m really here.” 

The numbness that he had lived with so very long finally started to fade, replaced by a warmth he’d fear never knowing again. He bowed his head and she held him with both hands now, pressing her forehead to his. His breath hitched; he was crying and he didn’t care. “You were locked out. I’m so sorry. It was a mistake,” he whispered.

She kissed him between his eyes. “I figured as much. Then I found your letters. I’ve read them all.”

Laughter bubbled up inside him. “I have more, if you want them.”

She drew her lower lip in between her teeth and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I want them. I want you if you still want me here?” 

“Pel. My love. Yes, Maker yes, I still want you. Of course I do.” 

“Good thing. My companions would be very sore at me. Especially Lucien. They’ll be here in a few minutes. Qa’Dojo is making sure we have a few moments before he lets Lucien loose on us.”   

Cullen chuckled at that. She took his hand in hers then, and that was all it took. All his fears and hopes and terrors, his worry and conviction he would never see her again, shattered. Cullen pulled her to him, swooping her up in his arms.  She laughed, wrapping her own around his shoulders as their lips met. His entire body lit on fire with happiness as she melded into him, returning his furious kisses with those of her own until they were breathless. He hugged her to him then, tears falling down his cheeks. 

“You’re here, you’re alive. I’d almost given up hope. The coin worked."

She slid it out of her pocket. "Yes. I owe everything to this. It kept me strong, Cullen. Whenever I doubted what I was doing? Well." She shrugged, then wiped his cheek. "All I had to do was hold it, and know I wasn't alone. You were with me, always."

"I love you.”

She pulled back, smiling at him, her eyes the same as he’d dreamed, full of the love he never thought he would experience again.  “I love you too. Isn’t there something you wish to ask me?”  

He stared at her for a long moment, his mind whirling. Not letting go of her hands, he started to fall to one knee but she held out her hand, stopping him. She nodded over at the eluvian. It shimmered again just then, and Lucien peered into the room, smiling broadly when he saw Cullen.  Behind him came Qa’Dojo.

“Oh good! We’re just in time. Sorry we’re late. Hi Commander!” 

“Durak?” Cullen asked. “Is he well?”

“He is. This one’s mate comes with the horses. Qa’Dojo is pleased to see you, Commander.”

“Horses. What?”

Durak pushed through then, pulling a mare--his mare, Kamarin--into the now-crowded room.  

“I plan to earn my keep here, Commander. He’ll bring the others through later,” Pel said. “But I thought you’d like your mare back.”  

Lucien said, his eyes wide with excitement, “I want to meet Varric.  I wrote a book!” He made a sad face. “It’s not very good though. Yet. I can meet him, can’t I? And the Inquisiteness, is she well?”

Cullen laughed, bowing his head and holding his free hand to his face.  “She is very well. Married with a child and another on the way. She will be happy to see you, Lucien. Of course you can meet Varric.” 

He glanced at Rylen, and Harding. “Introductions can wait, Commander,” Harding said with a grin.  “Go on, weren’t you going to do something?” She nodded at his ring. 

“Thank you, Lace,” he said, his voice softening as he held Pel to him. “I need to propose to my wife.”

“Hold on!” Lucien said, fumbling through his pockets and pulling out a book and pen. “Okay I’m ready.”

“He’s been dreaming of this moment for months now,” Pel murmured.

“I better not mess this up then.” He cleared his throat.  “Pelonia Sabrilia Attarnia; Dovahkiin, Born Hunter of Dragonkind; Eater of Souls; Voice of Thunder; and Last of Her Name, Slayer of Alduin, love of my life and my reason for living, in front of these witnesses--and a mabari--”

“And a horse!” Lucien said.

“And a horse. Will you honor me by becoming my wife, again?”

“Yes, love,” she said, smiling at him, cupping his cheek.  “I want nothing more. Though can we just shorten that to Pel Rutherford? I think that is long enough.” 

“Maker, yes.” 

He kissed her, ignoring the cheers surrounding them, and Brak’s happy bark. Finally, they were both home.