***Warning: Major Character Death!***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is an alternative ending. Best read after chapters 1-8 for full impact.

The pulsing green light filled the air around him as Cullen rallied the Inquisition forces to meet the waves of demons which fell from the breach in the sky. Blood and ichor met and merged on the stones beneath his feet as his sword cut through them over and over again. His mind struggled with the sight of the Breach which once more disrupted the sky above the Temple of the Sacred Ashes, the green pallor it cast reminding him all too clearly of other times he had fought demons in the sickly light of the Fade. Now, however, the stakes were much higher than one fortress and his own sanity, more even than the life of the Divine herself. The Herald of Andraste fought a madman who would claim the mantle of the Maker, and that he would gladly fight to his death to prevent.

There was no night and no day under that pulsating viridian glow from the sky above, only the unrelenting malice of the enemy. His voice roughened as he shouted orders to his soldiers, always moving to avoid falling victim to the unsteady ground as it rumbled and groaned beneath him. The uneven footing made the battle more of a challenge, but he did not falter, nor did the men and women around him. The Inquisitor fought for Thedas, and they could do no less.

Amidst the chaos and confusion of demons and soldiers and the restless earth, Cullen almost didn't notice what was happening in the distance - at least, not until he paused to catch his breath and look around the battlefield. Even when he saw it, comprehension was slow to come. His mouth dropped open as the Temple of Sacred Ashes wrenched itself from the ground and rose into the sky, moving with an eerie grace. When the red lyrium which made up its walls awoke and shone with new vigor, the crimson mixed with the green hue of the Breach above and cast a sickly yellow light over the land.

"He must be using the red lyrium!" Cassandra yelled as she came to stand next to Cullen. "Even Corypheus wouldn't have enough power to lift the entire Temple on his own."

"Perhaps he's drawing power through the Breach as well," Cullen shouted. "He's mad enough to use red lyrium in ways no sane man would consider. Who's to say he's not trying to draw magic from the Fade itself in his quest for power?"

Cassandra shook her head in bewilderment, even as her sword lashed out to sink into a nearby shade. "But why would he do this?"

Abruptly a bright aura appeared around a lower section of the soaring Temple, and Cullen immediately recognized it as the work of a powerful Knight-Enchanter. "He seeks to separate the Inquisitor from her support," he realized. "She must have fought her way to the Temple to confront him directly."

"Then we should do the same," Cassandra declared.

"Agreed." Pivoting to bash a nearby shade, Cullen sank his blade into the thing's neck before yanking it out and raising his sword in a signal to those around him. "To me! We're taking the fight to the Temple and Corypheus himself!"

The answering shouts were perhaps less numerous than he would have preferred, but carried all the fervor he could wish for. Together he and Cassandra led the fight to the broken ground where once the Temple had rested, clashing with the demons once more as they swarmed from the Breach above. A brief conversation with Scout Harding confirmed what Cullen had guessed: Adaar and her chosen companions had engaged Corypheus just before the Temple had risen into the sky, leaving behind the demons to take out the Inquisition forces.

As his sword rose and fell, Cullen couldn't help but steal glances upwards, heart pounding for a reason other than physical exertion. He could clearly see the clash of spells reflected in the clouds over the soaring stones above, indicating that a battle of epic proportion was underway, one which would surely result in the end of either the Inquisitor or Corypheus.

And Dorian was up there with her.

A slash of pain in his arm snapped his attention from the floating fortress above, and he snarled as he used his shield to knock the rage demon in front of him back before his sword slashed across its front. Forcing his mind back on the fight, he surged forward with a renewed vigor.

Finally the furor of the onslaught slowed, and stream of demons falling from the Breach slowed to a trickle. Inevitably his gaze was drawn to the sky above, and on the Temple which hovered there. Every time a scatter of magic shone in the clouds, his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword until it ached.

When the first roar pierced the sky above, he reflexively brought his shield up in defense. As the dragon swept over them, he gaped up at it, then took a step back as another dragon appeared from the clouds above to slam into the first one with an ear-shattering shriek. As the first dragon began to fall towards the ground, Cullen shouted, "Fall back!" A flurry of activity followed, though in the end the dragon regained its altitude and turned to attack the other with a blast of fire. As the winged titans grappled each other, they disappeared above the floating ramparts into the clouds once more.

"Maker save us," Cassandra breathed. "Is that what the Inquisitor has to fight? Along with Corypheus?"

"Andraste keep them safe," Cullen whispered harshly, then shook himself and looked around at his scattered troops. Most of them simply looked a bit dazed from the battle and its aftermath, but as the shock faded, he saw the need for action. "Look sharp!" Striding into their midst, he snapped orders at people as he passed them. "We've wounded to tend to, and fallen to prepare for their final honors. The Inquisition still stands, and the Herald still fights!" Quickly he gave orders for the unwounded to take up the front line as the lightly wounded aided those more heavily injured from the field.

Once that was dealt with, he turned and moved to the forefront of his troops, waiting with sword and shield ready. At this point, that was all he could do.

For a moment, he closed his eyes and mouthed a prayer to the Maker before letting a small whisper slip out, a desperate entreaty for someone else entirely: "Come back to me."

You start awake from your battle stupor, fighting to open your eyes as a trickle of liquid warmth runs down your face. Forcing your eyelids apart, you push yourself to your feet, desperately searching through the wreckage of the Temple for the others. Surely they must have survived the onslaught of the beast before your last volley of magic sent it crashing to the ground. Surely.

Come back to me.

Ignoring the stabbing in your side as you summon a feeble barrier against the cold, you stumble towards a huddled form behind a rock. Relief fills you as you find a battered yet breathing dwarf, face covered with blood. Ignoring the consequences and the stench of sweet sourness, you gulp down the contents of a blue bottle and do what you can for him with a trickle of warm magic. "Come on, Varric," you murmur. "You haven't won my last sovereign yet."

A grin lifts one corner of Varric's mouth as he chuckles. "And it'd be a damn shame if I didn't, Sparkler." The dwarf shakes his head and tries to stand, but falls back almost immediately. Pulling a bottle which gleams red from his tunic, Varric pops the cork out and raises it in salute. "I'll need a moment, but I'll be right with you. I promise." You acknowledge him with a nod before turning to search for the others.

Come back to me.

Breath hissing through your teeth as each step causes a fresh surfeit of agony, you manage to reach the heap of gleaming metal and grey skin lying motionless under one of the dragon's legs. Though the gleaming gold breastplate is misshapen and bent, the chest beneath it still rises and falls. Your hands fall to rest on Bull's shoulder, giving the Qunari what magic and warmth you can despite the increasing chill in your own body. When Bull suddenly gasps and jerks to life, you don't bother to disguise the smile that comes to your lips even as you can't resist teasing the horned giant. "And here I thought the dragon might have done me a favor."

"Yeah, yeah," Bull grunted, then suddenly reaches up and pulls you down into a hug. "You'd miss me and you know it, Vint." After a moment, Bull pushes you away and reaches down to struggle against the weight pinning him down. "Just give me a moment to get this dragon off me and I'll be right with you. Promise."

"I'll hold you to that," you tell him as you ignore the pricking at the back of your eyes. "Maybe I'll even try that swill you call Qunari ale once this is all over." As Bull chuckles, you squeeze his shoulder one more time and rise to continue your search. There is still one person left to find, after all.

Come back to me.

You find her limp form far away from the others, flung with great force to dangle on the edge of the floating cobblestones. Ignoring the pain and the spreading stain at your side, you drag her away from the edge and then kneel beside her. Another bottle of blue twisted ecstasy is swallowed before you rest your hands on her forehead, calling the Inquisitor back from the Fade with all the healing magic and desperation you have at your disposal. "Please," you whisper. "Corypheus yet remains."

Lavender eyes rimmed with red suddenly open and stare into the cool grey of your own, and with a frown, she shoves you away. "I'm fine, Vint." Ignoring your gasp of pain, she stands and retrieves her staff, her hand stroking over the head of one of the snakes which had last graced Calpernia's shoulder. She watches you struggle to your feet with a calculating gaze, but makes no move to help. After a moment, her eyes flicker towards the stairs leading above, to the silhouette of the madman with the red orb glowing in his hand. "He will fall before me. They all will." Your blood turns to ice as her gaze returns to you, the faint whispers from the ancient Well closing around her as a fey light comes to her eyes. "You all will."

You raise your hands in silent pleading as her staff lowers to point at you. An instant is all you have to decide whether or not to act against her or accept the fate you have feared since the Temple of Mythal. For that bare moment, the life of the Inquisitor hangs in the balance, and beyond that, the fate of Thedas. Your eyes close as you make your choice, bracing for the impact of her assault. Then there is no time: no time for more than a gasp as the purple tendrils wrap around you, no time to fight the pain as it courses through your body, no time to speak as you are flung over the precipice.

No time save enough to see the cruel smile settle onto her lips as your body succumbs to the inevitable and plummets into the darkness. No time save enough to plead the forgiveness of the man you wish you could see one more time before that darkness swallows you whole.

"Come back to me." The words became a whispered mantra as Cullen maintained his vigil, eyes fixed on the sky and the battle above with his sword point grounded between his feet. Once it was clear that the fall of the demons from the rent in the sky had ceased, Cassandra came to join him, adapting a similar position with her helmet held under one arm. As time went on, others joined them, but far enough away to give the two their own space.

When Cassandra finally spoke, it came as a shock to his ears, though she spoke in a gentle tone. "They will return."

His only response was a tight nod, since he didn't trust his voice in that moment. His hands tightened around his hilt as a particularly bright explosion shook the floating Temple above. In a tight voice, he finally grated, "They must return."

"We must have faith in-" Cassandra began, then gasped and pointed upwards. "The Breach!"

Cullen's eyes snapped upwards in time to see the gaping gangrenous gouge in the sky convulse for a moment. "Brace yourselves!" he shouted as he fell to his knees with a clatter just as the shockwave hit. While he shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears, he looked up once more - in time to see the Temple begin its descent back to the ground. Without conscious thought his feet set into motion, his eyes locked on the floating ruin as he raced towards where it would likely land. He only came to a halt when the bricks impacted the ground, sending a shockwave out that staggered those approaching.

His breath caught when he saw silhouettes appear at the top of the stairs leading down to where everyone had gathered. The Inquisitor and Iron Bull were easy to spot, though Varric took a bit longer to emerge from the haze of darkness. He waited, a chill growing in his chest as his eyes remained locked on the empty archway, but no one else followed. When Adaar reached the bottom of the stairs, he shoved his way forward through the crowd awaiting her and demanded, "Where is Dorian?"

He saw Bull wince and look away as Adaar tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "I have defeated an ancient evil who wished to take on the mantle of a god, and that is how you greet me?"

Cullen gritted his teeth. "With respect for what you've accomplished, Inquisitor, my concern is for those who serve the Inquisition. I see the others who went with you to fight Corypheus, but not Dorian. I am... concerned." Concern, of course, was no adequate word to describe what he was feeling. By this point, the chill in his heart had turned into an almost physical pain, but he dared not question Adaar too fiercely, not now when the shouts of praise were already rising from the throats of those around him. Even if all he wanted to do was seize the woman by her shoulders and shake her until she answered.

Adaar frowned, but finally gave a little shrug. "He fell," she said in clipped tones, then pushed past Cullen and called for a messenger to run ahead to Skyhold and tell Josephine to prepare for a victory celebration.

"No." The word was a mere murmur, the only one to escape the stream of denial inside his head. No, no, no, Cullen had not just heard those words. His hands clenched into fists as his body shuddered, the ice in his chest spreading to his entire body. The chill stole his ability to speak before he could think to ask her anything further, and left him staring into the dark as a sharp agony tore through him.

He fell.

Two simple words, yet the implications could prove devastating. Death in battle was undoubtedly a constant danger for any of the Inquisitor's companions, and yet… Cullen clenched his teeth in a sudden burst of anger as an insidious thought rose in his mind. Had Dorian fallen in the heat of battle, blasted by the heat of a mad god's magic, or had Calpernia's fate in the Temple of Mythal been but a foreshadowing?

Cullen jerked as a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, his breath coming in almost panicked gasps as he looked up into the face of the Iron Bull. "Did you see-?" His voice failed, cracking before he could bring himself to utter the fateful words.

Bull shook his head, but the way he didn't quite meet Cullen's gaze dashed any lingering shred of hope. "You should go look for him," he said in a hushed rumble. "It might be worth a try."

"Really?" The word came out harsh enough to make Bull wince, but Cullen offered no apology. The world seemed too distant and hollow for that. "If you didn't see it, then who did?"

For a moment, Bull didn't answer, though his heavy sigh indicated the weight on his own shoulders. Finally, he said, "You'd never forgive yourself if you don't look for him."

A little shock ran through Cullen as he realized the truth of those words. No matter what it meant, no matter what he might discover, he had to find Dorian.

Without another word, Cullen pushed past Bull and made for the Temple. One way or another, he had to know.

The world proved to be a dark and lonely place in the shadows behind the Temple, especially in light of the havoc which the Temple's sudden departure for the skies had wreaked upon the ground. Huge drifts of snow alternated with overturned earth and ragged ruins, which meant that simply walking through the landscape made each step an act of faith and desperation. To make matters worse, the snow falling from the sky changed from occasional flurries to a thicker blanket of white, heralding a blizzard in signs he'd come to recognize over the months the Inquisition had occupied Haven. The world seemed to be conspiring against Cullen, from the sky to the earth to everything in between.

None of that mattered, however. At this point Andraste herself wouldn't have been able to deter him from his task. The same dogged determination which had saved his life and sanity in Kinloch Hold, and made him serve a poor master for far too long in Kirkwall, now kept him moving, ever forward, into the harsh winds and unforgiving landscape. When his foot found a hole and forced him to stumble to his knees, he ignored the abrupt agony which awoke in his ankle and pressed onwards.

Over time, the cold merged with the ache in his heart as he forced himself to climb one more snowdrift, to check under one more tree, fighting to hold onto that one last bit of hope that Dorian hadn't fallen into an endless dark where no one would find him. The pain of his twisted ankle became a distant memory as he lost all sensation in his legs below the knee save for an infernal itching that seemed to slowly consume his body from the ground up. When his shield's weight slowed him down too much, he dropped it in the snow behind him, and when his sword banged his leg one too many times, it was similarly abandoned to the wilderness. The thick fur of his mantle at least warded the cold from his face and hands as he buried them deep in its silken strands, but all of that faded into the background.

He would not give up. He could not give up.

Deeper and deeper into the darkness he wandered, all too aware of just how much ground he had to cover. After climbing one particularly steep hill, he fell to his knees and took a few heaving breaths as he fought to catch his breath. "Maker," he whispered softly, "he could be anywhere out here." For a moment the enormity of his task crushed his shoulders, and he bent over to scream his frustration to the snow. When that burst of energy passed, he looked up to the stars before closing his eyes for a moment. "Maker," he breathed, and this time, it seemed more a plea than a curse.

After a few moments in wordless prayer, he opened his eyes once more - just in time to see the moon emerge from behind the clouds. Its quiet light bathed the snow around him with a cool radiance, creating an eerie beauty in the silence that for a moment calmed his frazzled nerves. Taking that calm to heart, he forced himself to analyze the area, trying to view it as a battlefield and take in every detail.

What was that?

His eyes widened as he waited a few breaths, an ember of hope awakening within. When he saw it again - a sparkle of something in a landscape of bare snow and trees - he heaved himself to his feet and stumbled down the hill towards it.

The twinkling light beckoned him ever onwards, the hope in his heart giving him the surge of strength he needed to cover those last few dozen yards. When he saw a patch of black amidst the white and green, he broke into a shambling run that ended with him falling to his knees beside a snow-covered, misshapen lump that sprouted hair from one end.

In a frenzy, he brushed the snow away from Dorian as best as he could, cursing his clumsy fingers as they struggled to be careful even in his haste. The blood covering one side of Dorian's face indicated injuries, but with so much snow on top of him, it was hard to determine the extent of the damage. As his hands moved over the mage's chest, he saw the sparkle again, and couldn't help but smile as his fingers found a familiar coin housed in a silver pendant around Dorian's neck. For all the buckles and other metal accoutrements that made up Dorian's wardrobe, it had been the moonlight glinting off of that lucky coin which had attracted Cullen's attention.

Once Dorian was uncovered, Cullen held his vambrace under Dorian's nose, holding his breath as he waited for the telltale mist of life to appear. "Please," he said softly, "please, don't be dead. Don't be dead." The words poured from his lips over and over, spilling in endless repetition as he waited for any sign of life.

Yet no fog of breath appeared on the metal.

No.

Tugging off his gauntlet, he pressed his fingers to Dorian's neck, seeking for even the barest hint of a pulse. As soon as his fingers touched Dorian's neck, however, he discovered the reason why he would never find such a thing. His trembling fingers stroked over the sharp bump he found there, even as the warrior in him recognized a snapped neck and prayed that it had at least been swift.

Cullen tried not to dwell on what Dorian's last seconds must have been like, tried not to wonder if Dorian knew they were his last. In fact, the world simply faded away as he slowly gathered Dorian's body in his arms and held him close. There was no sound, no heat, no light, no hope: only the dead weight in his arms and the ending of his own life.

Eventually he became aware of a heavy hand on his shoulder, of being shaken gently, and of an echoing sound that kept repeating over and over again. The realization stole over him that his body had grown almost as numb as his heart, and that the moon had disappeared behind a bank of thick, dark clouds. When he looked up, it took him a moment to associate a name with the hulking giant kneeling next to him, and longer still before he realized that the echoing sound was his name.

When he spoke, it was no more than a whisper. "He's gone."

"Yeah," Bull said quietly. "Yeah, I know."

They didn't speak again for a long while after that. Silence fell on them like a blanket as they carefully took Dorian's body and laid it to rest in the cart Bull had brought, and remained in place as Cullen remained with Dorian, letting Bull pull the cart back to the ruins of the Temple.

The cold settled deep into Cullen as the cart creaked over the snow, and remained there even after they reached the area where others awaited them. Cassandra took one look at his face and closed her eyes for a moment, then drew her sword to give Dorian a solemn salute. He forgave her for invoking the Maker's name to guide his rest, knowing her as he did and knowing the comfort the words would grant her, but he did not join the invocation.

It didn't matter anymore.

The others came to pay their respects, one by one, each of them leaving something personal before going their separate ways. He saw anger in each of them, anger which hadn't quite come to bloom inside of him yet. The cold overwhelmed him still, keeping the blackness surrounding him at bay for the moment. It was real, yet it wasn't; it was pain, yet it wasn't; it was rage, yet it wasn't. He was alive...

Except he wasn't.

Finally a heavy hand landed on his shoulder once more, and he looked up to meet Bull's gaze. "It's time," Bull said quietly, gesturing to one side.

It took a few moments for the import of the words to sink in, and longer for the strange arrangement of branches and planks that had been set up in an open area to register. Once his mind finally supplied the appropriate word- pyre- the cold only grew colder inside of him. With a nod, he turned and gathered Dorian in his arms one last time.

And, as he watched the fires flicker and dance as they consumed his best reason for living, his hand stole to his pocket to play with the small bottle he'd taken from Dorian's belt. The bottle itself was not special save for its origin, but he had a plan for it, once the fire had done its work. His jaw firmed as he pulled it from his pocket and popped it open, downing the shimmering blue contents without a second thought, then shoved the bottle back into his pocket once more.

Later. He would think about it later.

How long he stood there, staring at the fire as it burned down slowly, he didn't know, or care. People came and went, and he heard snatches of conversation: about Dorian, about the Inquisitor, about the whispers already flying through Skyhold. He heard, but he didn't listen, didn't care. Not yet.

Once the pyre had become little more than another pile of ashes in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, he stumbled forward and knelt among them, ignoring the brief flares of heat. Taking the bottle from his pocket, he carefully gathered the remnants of his heart from the center of the pile, digging through the bits of wood until he found what he was looking for: the scarred, burnt, and misshapen lump of metal which no longer resembled a coin at all. As he reached to take it with a shaking hand, Cullen felt the pressure rising within, felt the cold slowly melting, and forced himself to remain calm as he dropped the coin into the bottle of Dorian's ashes and pushed the cork in deep.

Then, when he moved back to the cart and gently placed the bottle with the pile of mementos the others had left, he felt something burst within him.

It was Bull who caught him as he crumpled to the ground, holding him tight as the first wave of grief swept over him with wave after wave of uncontrollable heartache. It was Bull who endured the punches and shouting as rage chased the heels of sorrow and reduced Cullen to mindless anger. It was Bull who remained with Cullen even after the others had left, waiting until Cullen had worked through as much as he could of the pent up despair and anger before losing even the ability to keep his eyes open.

Cullen didn't want to sleep, however, not yet. His dreams were never pleasant, and he knew that whatever awaited him in the darkness behind his eyes would be even worse without a pair of familiar arms around him. In an effort to stay awake, he murmured, "She'll have missed you by now."

"Nah," Bull said. "I went back for a bit last night, while she was still celebrating. Pretended to celebrate with her. She's probably still asleep."

Raising his head listlessly to study Bull's face, Cullen asked, "Do you love her?"

Bull inhaled sharply through his nose. "I might have been able to learn, once. Before she let me know what she really thought of me."

The response enraged Cullen on Bull's behalf. "Why are you still with her?"

"Same reason you stayed as long as you did," Bull said with a shrug. "I had a job to do."

It wasn't until that moment that Cullen realized that his time with the Inquisition truly was over-had been, in fact, since the Inquisitor had told Cullen of Dorian's fate. Corypheus was gone, the threat to Thedas ended.

And Cullen felt nothing but the taste of ashes in his mouth.

"What will you do now?" Cullen murmured, even as he shied away from asking the same question of himself.

"I still have a job to do. The Inquisition isn't going anywhere. She's had a taste of power now, and who knows what she'll do as it starts to slip through her fingers."

With a frown, Cullen considered Bull's words. "I won't be the only one to leave now."

Bull shook his head. "No. And every loss will cut her hard. She's still a power in Thedas, though, and I'll need to keep an eye on her."

Cullen's eyes closed again, and he didn't speak until he'd reached a decision. "Bull."

"Yeah?"

"Stay with her until I come back."

He felt Bull's body tense for a moment, then relax. "You got it, boss."

After a moment, Cullen felt Bull open his hand and press something into it. Opening his eyes slowly, he glanced down. "What's this?"

"Dragon tooth," Bull told him with an expansive shrug. "When you're ready, send this with a note letting me know when. I'll take care of the rest."

"Why do you have-" Cullen began, then stopped when Bull's body tensed again. "Never mind. Thank you, Bull."

"Any time," Bull said softly.

Cullen didn't linger after that. Bull had brought him enough supplies to reach the nearest town, and from there he was able to get enough supplies to take him to his next destination.

After that, it was just a matter of time.

He waited, preparing as rumors spread of splintering within the Inquisition, as gossipmongers told the tales of the Inquisitor raging about the betrayal of those closest to her, as the power and influence of the Inquisition dwindled. As time passed, he realized that the blue lyrium wasn't enough, and started to use something more powerful instead, heedless of the consequences.

After all, only his duty mattered. Isn't that what the Inquisitor had taught him?

He didn't know when he would strike, but knew he would know when the time was right. Eventually the sign for action came in the form of a Seeker undeterred by the remoteness of his location in the bowels of the Deep Roads. He heard her open the door to the small room he'd made his home in the months and years since leaving the Inquisition, and paused before turning to face her. He knew he'd changed in that time, but the sight of her wide eyes still shook him before he mentally shoved the thought away.

He'd done what was necessary.

"Seeker Cassandra. I knew you'd find me sooner or later," he told her, by now accustomed to the additional harmonics in his voice. "You've done it before."

"Cullen." Her eyes searched his face, her brows pinching together tightly. "You do not look well."

"I am strong. Strong enough to do what needs to be done." He glanced at the small mirror on his desk, the one he kept to remind him of what his mask looked like, and admired the deep red hue in his eyes. Shaking his head, he turned back to her. "Why do you seek me?"

She gave a soft sigh. "You know why I am here. The Inquisitor was summoned to an Exalted Council."

"And refused to answer the summons," Cullen drawled. "Yes. Even I heard about that."

"There's more to it than that," Cassandra said quietly. "She's losing control of the Anchor."

Cullen's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"It... flares," she explained. "And when it does, she loses her ability to mitigate what it strikes. People were leaving before, trickling away over time, but..." Cassandra fell silent as a haunted look came to her face.

An uneasy feeling rose in Cullen. "What happened?"

Cassandra's eyes closed. "She was in a meeting with Josephine when it happened. The healers believe Josephine will live, but..." Cassandra clasped her hands together tightly. "The damage from the Anchor was too great, and they had to remove her arm. She is determined to learn to write with her other hand, but I doubt she would be able to her duties as Ambassador even if she were willing."

"And the Inquisitor?"

"Never apologized. Insists that it will not happen again. Believes that because it was an accident, she bears no blame, not even for poor judgment." When Cassandra opened her eyes, anger resided deep within. "I only returned to the Inquisition because the Divine assured me that the Exalted Council would seek to curb her power, and she needed me to be the voice of reason at the Inquisitor's side. I never wanted to go back after what she did to-" She paused for a moment, studying Cullen closely. "What she did when Corypheus fell. But I will not go back again. Not even for the Divine."

"And Josephine?"

"Is safe," Cassandra declared in a firm voice. "In a place where the Inquisitor will never find her. Only Leliana remains at Skyhold, at the Divine's orders."

Cullen smiled slightly, then scribbled something onto a piece of paper. "Good." Pushing himself to his feet, he walked to where a small chest rested on a table next to his bed and opened it. First he took out a small bottle sealed with wax and ribbon, which he kissed gently before tucking into a pouch beneath his tunic. Then he took out another pouch, large enough to hold a dragon's tooth but not much more, and turned to Cassandra. "You have ways of getting messages to her, don't you?" Putting the piece of paper into the pouch, he held it out to Cassandra. "Send her this. She'll know what to do with it."

Cassandra nodded grimly as she took the pouch. "Understood." For a moment she studied his face, then reached up to lay her hand on his cheek. The light of his eyes reflected off the metal of her glove, granting the silver a crimson hue. "I am sorry it came to this," she whispered, "but-"

"But it is time for me to assume the mantle of the Templar once more," he finished for her, taking her hand and lowering it. "Consider it one final opportunity to do the will of the Maker." When the sorrow didn't leave her face, he gave her a gentle smile. He did owe her that, after all. "Goodbye, Cassandra."

She straightened, then leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Goodbye, Cullen." Without another word, she departed, leaving him to make his final preparations.

Cullen closed his eyes and pressed his hand once more to the bottle hidden beneath his tunic. "It is time," he breathed.

He arrived in the dead of night, draped in a heavy hooded cloak. His knowledge of Skyhold and its patrols allowed him to easily evade notice, though he did note that defenses seemed much more sporadic than when he'd been in control of them. As he slipped unnoticed through the grounds, his keen eyes noticed the obvious signs of neglect and lack of repair which had spread throughout the place, making it almost seem as if the place were slowly rotting. The stables were empty, the lights in the Templar's tower were absent, and even the Herald's Rest seemed to be devoid of life. He assumed that some people still served the Inquisition, but all the progress and excitement from its early days had clearly dissipated, and Skyhold had been reduced to a husk, along with the Inquisition itself.

The fact brought him no joy, however. His joy had died years ago in the snowy hills surrounding the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and nothing could ever bring him back.

As Cullen stalked through the dark and unlit main hall to the door leading to the Inquisitor's quarters, a hint of movement caught his eye, and he turned towards it, hand falling to the hilt of his sword. He didn't relax when the movement turned into a woman with a familiar face, but he did leave the sword in its sheath. "Leliana."

"Cullen," she replied in a soft voice. "Are you ready?"

He nodded. "I have been ready for almost two years," he said in a grim tone.

She nodded, the hard edges that the Inquisitor had instilled in her even more evident than before. Raising her hand, she offered him a small pouch. "As you requested. Dagna said it won't last long, but it will be enough."

His hand took the pouch and weighed it in his hand, then nodded. "Thank you. She is gone?"

"There are only enough left here to make sure the rumors speak truth," she told him quietly. "Maker give you strength." Her eyes studied his for a moment, then quickly looked away as she turned and moved to the door.

"Thank you, Leliana," he said in a voice he knew she would hear. "And goodbye."

Her feet paused for a moment before she glanced over her shoulder. "Goodbye, Cullen."

And then she was gone, melted into the shadows once more.

Cullen stared at the pouch in his hand, then slowly drew it open. Inside, the glitter of red crystals winked at him, alive despite the darkness of the hall around him, and he smiled. Pulling one of his red lyrium potions from his pouch, he poured the crystals into it and swirled it for a few moments, then downed the whole thing in one swallow.

Closing his eyes, he tightened every muscle in his body as the power surged through his veins, allowing the leading edge of it carry him through the first few moments of bliss and beyond. When he opened them again, the hall was no longer dark-or at least, no longer appeared dark to him. Everything was edged with a brilliant halo of red, and the whisper of the blighted lyrium had grown far louder in his ears. He raised his hand and flexed it absently, glad to feel how the power rippled and bubbled within.

He was ready.

The last few steps took him to the door, which he pushed open with ease. He took a few steps inside, then paused as he saw a pair of familiar horns silhouetted in the moonlight. Setting his hand on the hilt of his sword, he waited until the horns moved closer, knowing that his enhanced vision had noticed Bull long before Bull had seen him.

When Bull got within a few feet of Cullen, he stopped and gave Cullen a nod before closing the remaining gap. "Nice timing," he rumbled softly. "She's all tied up at the moment."

Cullen smiled as he looked up the stairs. "Good," he replied in kind. "Are you staying?"

"Me?" Bull shook his head. "Nah. It's time to go home."

"Thank you, Bull." Cullen held out his hand, shaking it with enough strength to make Bull stagger. "You always were a good friend."

A poignant expression came to Bull's face. "Not good enough," he whispered. "Goodbye, Cullen."

"Goodbye, Hissrad," Cullen replied, then pushed ahead.

As he climbed the stairs, he pushed the hood back, then unlatched the cloak, letting it fall to the ground with a soft sigh. He kept his feet quiet as he took the final steps upwards, wondering what he would feel when he finally laid eyes on her.

Cullen paused when the Inquisitor came into sight, tilting his head as he analyzed his opponent. She was, as promised, tied up at the moment. He barely noticed her nudity, save that it was another weakness he could exploit if necessary. Bull had arranged her in a supplicant's position: balanced on spread knees with her arms trussed behind her back. The blindfold over her eyes was a nice touch, and Cullen nodded in satisfaction as he resumed walking towards her.

As he got close, her head rose as she searched the room sightlessly. "Bull? Are you ready yet?" she snapped.

Cullen tilted his head, drawing a mask around himself. It was an old mask, designed to be worn over the whole of the mind, and one he'd acquired in his time under Knight-Commander Meredith in Kirkwall all those years ago. He'd hoped never to use it again, to never again reduce a person into a dangerous thing, but he knew that this task would demand it.

Once the mask was in place, he drew his sword and swept it in front of him, unleashing a smite which would have quelled the magic of the Conclave.

The Inquisitor shrieked and collapsed, convulsing and shuddering in reaction as her magic was ripped from her. Kneeling slowly, Cullen gently pulled the blindfold from her head and seized her neck. "Inquisitor," he greeted her, then raised her up to her knees once more without care for her comfort.

Her eyes widened, and he felt her try to reach for her magic. Thanks to Dagna, not even the Anchor would answer her call at the moment. His body would pay the price for that special mixture later, of course, but that didn't matter.

Only this mattered.

"Traitor," she spat, then gasped as Cullen's hand slowly tightened around her neck.

"It takes one to know one," he grated as he pressed one hand over her mouth to muffle her screams. Then he set the tip of his sword on her chest, placed in a very precise location. "The Divine sends her regards," he murmured, then braced his elbow and slowly pushed the first two inches of his sword into her chest. She tried to buck against him, but the red lyrium gave him a strength that, for the moment, was even greater than that of the Iron Bull. That, combined with the tight hold of the ropes, ensured he could control her with minimal effort-a fact which gave him enormous satisfaction.

As she struggled and shrieked, he turned his blade with painful slowness, feeling her ribs crack and break, then swung his lower arm in a tight circle before extracting the sword from the mess of flesh and bone he'd created in her chest. Her screams quickly lost power after that, fading into pathetic whimpering as the air sped from her now-shredded lung. While blood slowly filled her lung from within, he scrutinized her face, waiting for the panic to bloom. Finally the moment came when she finally understood that it was her time to die and nothing she could do would prevent it. Only then did he drop the sword and take her face between his hands, forcing their gazes to meet.

"And this is for Dorian," he murmured, then broke her neck with one powerful twist.

That didn't kill her, of course. No, he didn't intend for her to die so easily.

As he set her down on the ground to cling to the last remnant of her life, a smile touched his lips. Through the months and years since he'd seen her, he'd spent a great deal of time envisioning exactly what the reunion would be like, crafting a response sufficient to fit her grievous crimes. He was a Templar, after all, and he knew several ways to make a mage suffer. The thought of rendering her Tranquil had, naturally, crossed his mind, but in the end he'd dismissed it as insufficient. Leaving her without her emotions still left her alive, after all. As well, he didn't want her to suffer a punishment that could be interpreted as an attack on her ability to use magic.

He simply wanted her to face the consequences of her choices

Settling his hand on her cheek, he tilted his head. "You're strong, Inquisitor. You always were. But that is not going to be for your benefit now." So saying, he drew a piece of paper from the pouch at his waist. "Do you see this?" he asked her, holding the paper so that she could read what was upon it. "On this list is every injury your actions-or lack of them-inflicted on Dorian Pavus, faithful servant of the Inquisition. After much thought, I've decided it only fair that you feel exactly what you did to him."

Her eyes widened as she tried to gurgle a response. Yet she could not, and he smiled.

"I am not the judge, Inquisitor, but I will ensure justice is served. You have enough strength for that, at least." And with that, he set the paper aside and turned to his task with the same dedication with which he'd previously served the Inquisition.

Only after the penultimate punishment had been meted out did he allow himself to sit back and re-evaluate her status. As he'd expected, the Inquisitor's strength proved formidable, allowing her to persist, awake and barely breathing, despite the burning and the bruises, and even beyond the breaking of her bones. Yet finally she drew near the end of her strength, and he knew it.

It was time for the final step.

Gathering her in his arms, he stood and walked slowly to the balcony. As the cold night air hit her skin, her eyes widened, and he smiled again. "This is the last item on the list, Inquisitor," he told her as he lifted her up and over the railing of the balcony. "I would entreat the Maker on your behalf, but you didn't even give him that much. So instead, I will simply say: goodbye, Inquisitor."

And then he released her.

His eyes followed her as she fell, heard the dull thud as she hit the ground far below. Whether or not she died on impact, he would never know, just as he would never know the same about Dorian. What he did know is that she would die alone and in pain, and that…

That was enough.

The fire of fury deep within flared one last time, filling him with a sense of satisfaction which had eluded him since Dorian's fall. In the next moment, though, his mind shifted, squirming and pushing against the implacable mask he'd forced into place, and he felt an uneasiness settle into the pit of his stomach to replace the anger. The satisfaction he'd felt at finally seeing her dead slipped away, to be replaced only by a vague sense of relief that it had been done, and guilt that he had been the one to do it.

More than that, though, it was done. The decision he'd made in the cold hours of the night while watching the body of his lover burn had been carried out in full, leaving him bereft of purpose or pleasure. Any hope he'd had for closure or triumph had faded with the Inquisitor's life, just as any hope for love and good had died with Dorian. Abruptly he realized that nothing had really changed since the emptiness had swallowed him whole in the Temple of the Sacred Ashes.

And this time, he knew he'd gone too far.

As a wave of nausea swept over him, he leaned over the railing and let nature take its course. Even after his stomach had emptied, he didn't move, instead staring out into the mountains which had once brought him such comfort. The red lyrium he'd used to get him this far rose in his mind, the song promising power beyond his imagination. Yet he'd seen what the lure of power could do, and refused to go down that path. He'd sought it out, he'd used it, and now...

Now he was done.

A calm came over him at the realization, and he smiled. Yes. He was done. He could be himself again, all masks discarded.

Reaching into his tunic, he pulled out a small bottle sealed with wax and ribbons, and gently pressed a kiss upon the glass. Holding it tightly in his hands, he looked up at the sky, wishing that he could remember what it was like to stare at them with a familiar pair of arms wrapped around him. But that was gone, long gone. Just like the Inquisitor, he had become nothing but a husk.

He was done.

He let the emptiness within buoy him upwards to balance on the railing. For a moment Cullen offered the bottle up to the sky, showing Dorian the stars one last time, even as he promised him that soon they would be together.

And then they flew as one, one last time.