Disclaimer: I think it goes without saying that I don't own the Dragon Age-verse. I own only my interpretation of events.

And the Path is Dark

I.

All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands,
From the lowest slaves
To the highest kings.

His world has changed.

Four years ago it was simple enough, if still dangerous and flawed. Cullen knew truths: mages were (for the most part) bad, templars were (for the most part) good, and the Maker loved his people. Then the Chantry in Kirkwall was destroyed and Meredith went mad. The world seemed to follow suit, the fragile peace between mages and templars shattering to pieces. After three long years of fighting in the streets and barely keeping the city from falling to bits, Cassandra Pentaghast had shown up demanding the Champion of Kirkwall be given to her.

Cullen had endured interview after interview that the Seeker demanded, answering each and every of her questions as best he could. Why did you let Hawke go? Where is she now? Somehow between the questioning and his attempts to return order to the city he had earned her respect. Before leaving the city she gave him an impossible offer: the position of Commander, not of the templars, but of Divine Justinia's personal holy army. An Inquisition was to be called. He had thought the offer mad, crazed. He clearly remembers laughing directly in Cassandra's face before he realized she was serious, his sides aching with each heaving laugh.

Cassandra hadn't taken that very well.

He remembers refusing, calling the very idea of an Inquisition barmy. But then Sister Nightingale had spoken up from the shadows. She reminded him of Meredith, of the injustices he had seen borne by both mages and templars. She mentioned the fighting, the senseless killing, that the whole world seemed mired in. And if he could make a difference, which he could as part of the Inquisition, then wasn't it his Maker-given duty to do so?

Cullen had doubted himself for a second, blinked, and found himself in control of an imaginary army that grew less imaginary by the day. When the Conclave exploded, when the sky ripped open, those remaining turned to him and gave their swords to his command unquestioningly. Which put him in the uncomfortable position of being a commander fighting a losing war.

A distant shriek echoes off the mountains as the sky shudders around the Breach and the Veil tears even more. Green light spill from the maelstrom of magic as the hole in the world widens. Cullen watches it, the fear it invokes a pale shadow to what had been. In the two days since the Conclave exploded the Breach has widened several times. The first time was nearly as panic-inducing as the initial explosion. Demons rained from the sky, and the panic was soon forgotten in desperate battle. The mages who had been in Haven during the explosion made their first attempt to close the Breach. The second widening was met with despair: would they ever manage to close the tear? More attempts were made to seal the Breach; all failed. The third was met with grim fear. The fourth and onwards met only with a fatalistic acceptance.

The sound of horse hooves clattering across stones interrupts his reverie. "Commander," Cassandra calls to him, her voice echoing through the yard. Her mount trots down the path towards him, something dangerous glinting in her eyes, her face a storm of fury. Anticipation clutches in his gut; Cassandra wouldn't look so murderous if they hadn't found something.

"What is it? Did the scouts find something at the Temple?"

A kind of vicious glee is obvious in her faint smile. "Yes, better than something. They found someone." She jerks her head back in the direction of Haven before spinning on mount around, pointing it back towards Haven. "Come. You'll want to see them. And we could use your opinion on the prisoner." A thousand questions spring to his tongue -who is the prisoner? Where did they come from? What have they said?- but Cassandra has already put her heels to the horse and is halfway down the path to Haven before he can begin to voice them. Cullen watches her ride away with a sigh before sending a runner to search for his second in command.

Cassandra meets Cullen in the yard, outside the Chantry two hours later. She's been waiting for him, if her crossed arms and impatiently tapping foot are any indication. She jerks her chin up in acknowledgement and spins on her heel to walk into the Chantry before he's even dismounted. Cullen beats down the irritation as effectively as he can. They have a prisoner; his dislike of Cassandra's rather curt social skills has no place here. For that matter, neither does the rage welling up in him, burning all his rationality from within. Anger is all well and good, but not if it interferes with what must be done. And killing their prisoner when they need information will certainly not accomplish their goals.

Cullen breathes deeply, letting the crisp mountain air cool him, ground him. Josephine and Leliana will have their hands full just trying to contain Cassandra; he can't expect them to have to handle him as well. Almost two decades of templar training come in handy at times like these, giving him the clarity and purpose of mind needed to select negative emotions and shut them away behind locked doors. He'll open those doors later but for now, he is calm.

He allows himself a single bitter thought as he crosses the threshold of the Chantry. Cassandra should be able to keep herself calm, she's a Maker-blessed Seeker! But is seems she abandoned more than her loyalty to the Order when she cut ties.

A Chanter gestures to a door off to the side of the hall as he enters, not once pausing her recitation of the Chant of Light. Those who oppose thee, Shall know the wrath of heaven. Cullen scoffs with dark amusement at the appropriateness of the verse. He's never personally been a big fan of the wrathful declarations of the Canticles of Andraste, but they do seem fitting for his current mood. A vague feeling of unease, the sense of something wrong, scampers up and down his spine as he approaches the door. Cullen opens the iron-bound door to the cellars where the town's few holding cells are found.

A very loud and very heated argument is happening in the holding cells. The words, and the uneasy feeling, become more distinct as he descends the stone steps. "We should just kill her," Advocation of violence and Nevarran accent. Cassandra. "Perhaps that will close the Breach."

"We have no way of knowing that!" That voice is less familiar to him, but Cullen still recognizes the faint accent and understated firmness of the Solas's voice. The elf approached them a mere two days after the Breach appeared in the sky, offering help. Cullen and Cassandra had been… less than pleased, but Leliana and Josephine were quick to convince them they needed all the help they could get. Even if it came from a shifty elven apostate with impossibly convenient timing. "Her knowledge, her mark, may contain the secrets to closing the Breach! You would just throw that away by murdering her?!"

"It would be justice for what she's done!" Cullen walks around the corner to see Cassandra and the elf, standing toe to toe. A grudging respect for the elf starts to grow. Although Cassandra stands over him by several inches and has likely twice the muscle mass, Solas glares right back at her, lips twisted into a disapproving frown. He maintains an impressive façade of calm, but Cullen notices his fingers twitching as if itching to toss a few spells her way.

Josephine, ever the voice of reason, steps forward. "Calm down, the both of you. Cassandra, we will have no way of knowing what her role in all of this has been until she wakes up."

"If she wakes up," Solas interrupts, shaking his head as he steps away from Cassandra and her gauntleted fists. "I think it quite unlikely that she ever will."

"Explain," Cullen steps from the shadowed steps into the candlelight, making his presence known. Leliana appears at his side. It's downright unnerving, how she seems to disappear and reappear without even a whisper. Though it's not as if he would ever let her know that; she's quietly smug enough already. She would be worse if she knew that the big-bad templar found her… disconcerting.

Leliana cuts off Solas as he begins to speak. "Perhaps Commander Cullen can take a look at our prisoner first. That way his impressions are not colored by ours." Leliana does not wait for a response before leading Cullen over to a cell, a slight figure slumped on the stone barely visible in the flickering candlelight.

"We had her cuffed and hobbled. If she awakes, she shouldn't be able to do any damage," Leliana explains as she unlocks the door. "However, there is something of note on her left hand which could prove to be dangerous. Be cautious."

The strange feeling grows in intensity as he approaches the slumped figure. When his hand makes contact with her shoulder it screams at him so loudly that he trips over himself to get away, falling on his ass as she scrambles backwards. "Maker's breath, what is that thing?!" The prisoner feels like the rifts that have been popping up ever since the Breach opened. She feels… wrong. Otherworldly. Like… like demons do. No, that's not quite right. Demons feel distinctly malevolent, twisted. This just feels… wild. Cullen swallows the wariness that is swiftly threatening to turn to fear and reaches out to touch the prisoner again. This time there is no sudden scream from his instincts, only the persistent sense of wrongness.

A slight push is all it takes to roll the prisoner on to her back allowing him to see the face of the accused. There are a number of things that surprise him. The first are the ears, poking out of her tangled mess of dirt-streaked, blond hair. Elven. Odd, considering the Conclave was a meeting between two largely human groups. This first surprise is confounded further by the markings stamped across her forehead, cheeks, even chin. Dalish. The Dalish were certainly not invited to the Conclave.

Cullen quickly scans the rest of her, taking in her torn clothing with little interest. It appears no different than any other clothing. In the name of thoroughness he strains his templar-senses past the thrumming wrong and searches for other traces of magic. Solas is a beacon of spells woven into staff and robes alike. Much to Cullen's surprise and growing dread, there is a similar echo coming from the clothing of the prisoner. Enchanted.

He spares half a second for a quick prayer to the Maker that he is mistaken before grabbing the prisoner's right wrist. He brings it into the torchlight, and sure enough, finds burns streaking her fingertips and palm. Cullen has seen their like plenty of times on overeager apprentices practicing past bedtime and on desperate apostates. On those who either had not the will or not the time to reach for their staves before summoning fire directly from their hands. "Mage." Cullen spits the word out with every ounce of venom it deserves. He drops the prisoner's limp wrist as if the magic in the elf could somehow seep into him, corrupt him. Of course she's a mage. Why would she be anything else? The likelihood of her innocence diminishes with each observation he makes. His cautious curiosity begins to turn back to his familiar anger. His self control weakens, the door locking away his rage creaks, threatening to break open.

The sense of wrongness flares a scant moment before a flash of green light erupts from the prisoner's hand and her body convulses, throwing eerie shadows as the warped song of the rifts echoes off the stones of the cellar. It lasts barely a heartbeat before it fades away. Solas runs into the cell and grabs the prisoner's hands, turning them palm-up. On her left palm green glows along the lines of her hand. As he watches it fades, until it is barely noticeable at all. Cullen remains frozen as Solas fusses, muttering unfamiliar incantations to himself. What in the world was that?! Can she… open a passage to the Fade? If so… this elf definitely opened the Breach! A wave of unassailable certainty crashes over him. This is the monster! The door holding his rage crashes open and Cullen scrambles to his feet, fumbling for his sword. His draw is halted by Solas's upraised hand.

"It is as I thought," Solas's tone is not angry, or fearful. Instead it sounds… sorrowful? Why would the mage be sad about this? Cullen's suspicions begin to spread, the shadow of his anger at the prisoner coming to fall on Solas as well. "The mark is growing in time with the Breach. She will be consumed by the Fade if this continues much longer."

"Consumed by the Fade?" Cullen barely manages to bite out the words and drop the hilt of his sword. He takes deep breaths, trying to calm his anger, we need information, we need information, but there is no cool mountain air to be found in this dank cellar, and it makes him feel stifled instead of free.

"Yes," Solas does not rise from the floor of the cell. He instead arranges her form into a more comfortable position, pushes the prisoner's hair out of her face. Blood-streaked hair, not just dirt-streaked, Cullen notices absently. "I believe that when the Breach opened, this woman was somehow drawn into the Fade physically. She then must have managed to find, or open, a rift in order to leave it."

Lines of the Chant dance in his memory. You have brought Sin to Heaven, And doom upon all the world. There aren't words for the kind of dread that floods Cullen now. "Physical. Fade." Fear chokes his words. A couple of deep breaths later he attempts a complete sentence. "Like the magisters. Like the Chant. Impossible."

Leliana's hand on his shoulder draws his attention, pulls him away from the prisoner and out of the cell. "We don't have the luxury of ignoring a possibility just because it's unpleasant." Her voice is tight, strained, and a strange sense of relief washes over him as he realizes he isn't the only one terrified by this prospect. "If anything, the actions of the magisters in the Chant of Light proves that traveling to the Fade is possible, if not without dire consequences. We have to explore the option that the prisoner is somehow able to manipulate the tears in the Veil." She sends a glare Cassandra's way. "Which is why it would be foolish to kill her. She may be able to repair them. Stop the Breach from growing, or even close it entirely. It doesn't matter what she did in the past, if she can repair what is going on now. We cannot afford to lose her." This sounds of an old argument. One that, judging by Cassandra's dismissive scoff and Leliana's responding eyeroll, they are both tired of repeating.

The weight of the situation presses down on Cullen's shoulders and he sinks to the floor, his back against a pillar and his face in his gauntlets. Breathe. Anger locked away. Breathe. Fear calmed. Breathe. Desperation quieted. Breathe. Hopelessness traded for purpose. Cullen raises his head, meeting the eyes of each of his companions. "What do we know about the prisoner?"

Josephine looks down at the ever-present writing board in her hands, checking her notes. "Leliana was able to dig up a little about our… guest." Cullen represses a grimace at her choice of words. Josephine always insists on being pleasant; she shuns words such as "prisoner," even if it dilutes the truth of the matter. Then again, she's a politician. Diluted truth is her bread and water. "As you can clearly see, she is a Dalish mage. No one seems to have known her personally. One pilgrim who was in Haven at the time of the explosion claims that there was a Dalish elf among the mercenary band hired to accompany her people to Haven. There were two grand clerics in this party, so they hired on a fairly large number, most of them independent bodyguards. The pilgrim said she wasn't certain where the mercenary came from, just that they picked her up just north of Highever and that the mercenary spoke with something like a Free Marcher accent. She guessed Starkhaven."

What would a Marcher elf be doing in southern Ferelden? "Are we certain the pilgrim was speaking of the correct elf?"

Leliana answers for Josephine. "The description she provided of the elven mercenary matched our prisoner perfectly, down to the placement of her tattoos."

Josephine shuffles papers around on her board, searching for a different set of notes. "We also have begun seeking her motive for being here. Dalish elves rarely leave their clans, so we considered the possibility of the elf being on an errand for her Keeper. Of the clans that wander the Free Marches, we've narrowed down her likely clan to one of three. The most likely by far, however, is the Lavellan clan. Their Keeper has attempted to make amiable contact with humans several times. Of all the clans in the area, they are the only ones who show any true interest in humans." Josephine raps her fingers against the board, biting the side of her mouth with uncertainty. "It is… possible that the clan wished to know firsthand what transpired at the Conclave, and thus sent an agent."

Great. Just great. More intrigue. Cullen groans internally. "So, it's possible that the prisoner was not independent, but rather working with the Dalish."

Josephine stops tapping on her board long enough to scribble a quick note. "Considering mages amongst the Dalish are almost exclusively either Keepers or Keeper apprentices… It's more than possible. It's likely."

"Then the Dalish could be behind the opening of the Breach." Cullen says the words, but he doesn't believe them, not really. He doubts most Dalish know enough about humans to even know that the Divine existed. Still, all avenues must be explored.

Leliana steps forward. "I wouldn't say that. No. I doubt their interest in human affairs goes beyond simply staying updated on events. If anything, I believe our prisoner was simply lucky. Or unlucky, if you prefer. Perhaps she is even being used as a scapegoat for the true villain. Maker knows most people are all too eager to blame an elf when things go awry."

Cassandra scoffs, and Leliana's blue eyes snap to her. "You doubt this?"

"It is all too convenient for the elf to be a mere observer. Appearing at the Temple can be no mere coincidence."

Leliana nodds. "Exactly. Think of it: what is the best way to frame someone? Make sure they are found at the scene of the crime. Make it so very obvious that they must be involved, and people will look no further. I do not believe the situation is as simple as you make it out to be, Cassandra." Leliana's voice raises, as if preparing for Cassandra's inevitable disagreement. "It's incredibly unlikely that the rift would open just as our soldiers were patrolling the area, as if delivering her directly to them. And let us not forget that the scouts are claiming they saw a figure behind our prisoner within the Fade."

A figure? Another conspirator? "What? Explain."

Leliana's response is more hesitant, uncertain."The scouts are claiming they saw a figure behind the prisoner as she tumbled out of the rift. A woman, glowing with golden light. We've kept it quiet for now, until we know more."

Cullen can make half a dozen guesses as to what the figure may have been, but he knows less of the Fade than Solas. "What was it? he asks the mage.

"I am uncertain." The way his fingers clench into fists declare how difficult it is for him to admit that. "It could have been anything. A trick of the light, a trick of the mind. Or perhaps a spirit of the Fade."

Leliana's next words are hushed with something very close to reverence. "One of the scouts is claiming it was the figure of Andraste herself, guiding the prisoner through the Fade."

Andraste. Awe and understanding erupt within him. A glowing, golden woman. He begins to understand Leliana's adamant defense of the prisoner. "You think the prisoner was guided by Andraste."

Leliana looks down, as if embarrassed by her admission. "I know it sounds impossible, but I think it's a possibility we shouldn't ignore. It could be true, it could not be. Either way, we'll never know if she doesn't waken."

Silence reigns over the damp cellar. Cassandra is stunned into quiet for the first time Cullen has seen since the sky opened up, Solas, Leliana and Josephine lost in thought. Cullen feels numb, empty after having all the dark feelings within burned away by awe and surprise. The few thoughts left to him rattle around his skull. Impossible to survive the explosion. Divine intervention. Blessed by Andraste. With a groan, a creak of leather straps and a clatter of armor Cullen picks himself up off the floor and voices one final question.

"What do we do now?"

Its Josephine who eventually provides an answer. "For now? We do as we have been doing. We try to contain the Breach, we build alliances and look for a solution. All that has changed is that we are now waiting for her to wake up as well."

Another pause, another heavy silence. Josephine crumbles to the pressure of it first. "Well, then. If that is all, I must be going. A great many nobles have been demanding answers. I have dozens of letters to answer."

Cullen takes advantage of the opportunity. "And I should be getting back to the valley. Our plans for the valley's defense need revising." He spares only a single glance over his shoulder as he climbs the stairs to see the three remaining staring at the body of the prisoner, with three different kinds of hope. He shakes off the urge to go back down the steps, to join his companions in their vigil. He can do nothing just sitting there, but he can do something in the valley. He can fight, defend from the encroaching waves of demons. Maybe even save a few lives. He resolves to drive this whole situation from his mind, to focus his attention where it is needed. That protection, that duty will become his world.

Three days later his world changes again.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading And the Path is Dark!

The story is going to be pretty much the story of the game, but not a novelization of it. Instead, I plan to focus on the moments we don't get to see, the events that happen off-screen. I'm still going to do my take on plenty of on-screen moments, but they won't be the focus of the piece. The POV won't be entirely Cullen's; Lavellan is up next chapter.

Warning: the whole story is going to contain spoilers. Tons of them.

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