Mary-Sue:
Cullen
Attack On Haven, The Citizens Evacuated, Herald's Rescue
The Herald looked over Corypheus's shoulder and way up high, deep in the mountains, a flare rose up in the night. The signal she'd waited for. Here I am, so close to the firing mechanism too. Maybe there's something to this "Herald of Andraste" bullshit after all.
Corypheus towered above her (he'd been practising for a Long time, so he wanted to get some use out of the skill he'd developed) pointed the shredded, skeletal, red lyrium stained, talon that he used as a finger, at the Herald.
"And you. I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You Must Die."
The Herald looked at the trebuchet handle and could not prevent a sarcastic smile from crossing her lovely features.
"You expect me to fight you but that's not why I kept you talking. Enjoy your victory. Here's your prize!"
Down the Shaft:
The Herald leapt from the trebuchet platform just before the full force of the avalanche hit. The mountain rolled over her, crushing her beneath it's might; snow rushing in to suffocate anything that remained after the onslaught.
Except... A well placed, and hitherto unnoticed, hole leading into the foundations of Haven seemed to open up before, and beneath the Herald. Falling forward soon became falling downward and the avalanche continued on its merry way without her.
She Plummeted. Broken wooden supports were carefully positioned to break her fall. 'Break' being the operative word. She bounced painfully from beam to beam, as if she was in a pinball machine being played by a sadist.
Mercifully enough, if one can call it mercy, the Herald blacked out long before she hit the last beam. Long before she hit the ground.
Haven's Campsite:
The arguments came later.
Before that there was only silence. Each of them lost in their own worlds; trying to come to terms with all that had happened, and all that they had lost.
Cassandra sat on a log, resting her elbows on her knees, leaning forward, staring intently into the fire. Looking for understanding, and finding only glowing embers. They could never give off enough heat, let alone provide any answers... A warrior, firm of purpose, the initial driving force of the Inquisition itself, was sitting as still as a statue. Dark eyebrows that are usually so expressive, were drawn low and down, casting deep shadows over her eyes. Questions about the future twisted and swirled around inside her, just as her braid encircled her head.
The flame flickered, drawing one's attention to her cheekbones, the metal on her gloves, and made the Inquisition's fiery eye emblazoned on her chest glow in the night. It still looked like a hairy eyeball to The Iron Bull, just a shiny one.
Josephine paced a quiet, small circle in front of her tent. Her hair so black it shone in the night, a soft, cordate face, and dark eyes that still held a sweetness, idealism even, within them. The firelight warmed her amber skin, her full lips, so exquisitely defined, always a twitch away from a smile, were slightly pursed, and her jaw tight.
Josephine's candle, clipboard, and quill were not in attendance. Instead, she was alternately crossing her arms in front of herself, hugging her shoulders to forestall shivering, and rubbing her hands together distractedly. Only the occasional shush-shush of her golden satin bloomers and skirt, as they rubbed together with her steps, could be heard. However, Josephine still managed to seem posed. Despite the fact that inside, her mind was spinning in the same circles as her feet.
A shadow far apart from the rest of the camp, leaning against a tree with ankles crossed, only the rare movement of an arm lifted, to welcome one of her birds, would giveaway her position. Leliana watched.
Skin so pale she glowed, and hair so fiery it should be a beacon standing out in the night for all to see.
But no, it was only graceful extension of an arm, to welcome one of her ravens back to the shadow in which she dwelt. Otherwise, there was nothing. If she had a mind to, one would never see her at all. What she did not let those around her see was how much she desperately wanted her birds to bring her news of the Herald. Any news was better than none. Leaving only the guesses and wondering. Leliana's faith was already being cruelly tested, losing the Herald wouldn't help.
In front of his tent, not far from the fire, Cullen sat pensively on a relatively comfortable, butt-sized, rock he'd found nearby.
Elbows on knees, hands clasped before his chin, he almost appeared to be at prayer. His blinks were long and slow. When opened, his eyes gleamed gold, instead of the soft hazel-brown they naturally were. It wasn't just the fire that made them gleam, it was the way he was staring. Like there was a nearly bottomless pit in front of him.
One that, if he stared long enough into its depths, he'd see where it went, and was considering jumping in to find out for certain. The firelight caught the gold of his carefully dishevelled curls, added auburn highlights to his ever present foof, and glinted coldly on his cuirass. Flashing across Cullen's chest where his heart should be.
However, the fire that made his armour shine was not so kind to his face.
When his eyes were closed, twin furrows appeared between his eyebrows, and the slight crinkling around them became fine lines etched into his skin.
Cullen kept seeing her in front of, and behind his eyes. Amidst the twisting thoughts in his mind came the sudden recollection of the Warden.
She had never a been an infatuation, despite him trying to convince himself that this was so. To his shame it was, had been he corrected himself, something real. He knew this because of how closely he'd held that, and his family, to his chest.
So deep inside himself that it kept him alive, gave him a semblance of sanity, throughout the torture the mages had put him through. Even when he wondered why he was bothering.
She had saved him then, destroyed what remained of the mages in that Circle, even the First Enchanter.
At his behest.
Now the Herald had saved him, saved all of them, but the cost had been her life.
Again, at his behest.
Reminding himself that the Warden had found love in Leliana helped. He let his scarred mouth slip for a moment into a semblance of his sideways smile, but even then the firelight was cruel; the scar shone white against the golden cast the light gave his skin.
Still beautiful, yet one could begin to see the experiences he'd suffered drawn upon him. Perhaps against his will, Cullen's current reality and past experiences were written across his face in braille.
Awakening In The Tunnel -- The Herald:
Cold.
It was seeping into her bones.
At first she could feel nothing else.
The Herald opened her eyes to look at the fractured opening she'd fallen though, but only darkness was above. The light in the chamber was low and diffuse, lending everything a slight blue tinge. Just enough light to see the darkness. The Herald took a deep breath and it felt like her lungs were suddenly coated in frost.
Well, now I know why the lighting is blue, she thought; but where is it coming from?
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she slowly and stiffly, tried to sit up. Her hair and clothing sticking slightly to the icy floor of the chamber as she moved.
She was halfway to a full sitting position when blinding pain in her left side reminded her of what she'd just survived.
Had she survived?
The cold was intense, sinking into her despite the many layers of clothing.
At least it helped to numb the bruises.
It took ages but the Herald was able to stand up. Directly in front of her was a long tunnel carved out of the ice and rock; the floor like a well-trodden path, boards placed over the more slippery and cracked areas to allow for easier travel.
"Why not?" the Herald muttered to herself, "Fall down a convenient crevasse, find a mysterious corridor with no obvious end. Why not follow it? What's the worst that can happen? I die? Again?"
With ice at her back, only darkness above, and a way forward in front, she knew there was only one viable option. She took a tentative step, lurched slightly, then took another, less of lurch this time, another step, it was getting easier.
For a brief moment the last look Cullen had given her before she left to face Corypheus drifted into her mind, glittering like a fish in the deepest ocean. A flash of his fierce sorrowful eyes, a flick of a fin, then gone. Clouds of exhaustion taking his place.
Step-by-step the Herald moved on.
After a time, it seemed easier; perhaps she wasn't as injured as they'd thought? She quickened her pace, ignoring the stinging in her left side and shoulder. She could just walk it off.
But after a few minutes the sting became a sharp pain, then the Herald was gasping for breath as if she'd run a mile, every breath hurting more than the last. Ribs creaking, left shoulder aching, and the Anchor burning, she took advantage of the icy walls around her. Leaning against one until the cold and rest made the pain ebb somewhat, and breathing came easier.
She remembered Cullen's slightly awkward sideways smile during their first conversation, the way he had rubbed his face against his foof all shy. With an effort of will, she pushed off the relative comfort of the wall and started forward again. Much more carefully this time.
After a period of time, she didn't know how long or how far she'd come, the Herald heard a scraping sound coming from somewhere ahead.
With back the only way to go, The Herald kept going, staff in hand. As she drew nearer, the scraping sound became underlaid with whispers and what could only be described as a strange growl.
However, it was not one with any animal in its history. She could see that the corridor opened into a wide room with stalactites hanging from every inch of the ceiling before the path continued on the other side.
Unfortunately, between the path and the Herald was a small group of demons.
Not that a large group of demons would have been much worse at this point.
