He'd left her to die. For the sake of the inquisition, and all of those who fell under its banner, he had abandoned her to a fate that none could survive. Cullen grit his teeth, trying to suppress more than just the cold. So many had died already, and he'd allowed the Herald of Andraste to be counted among those numbers. Even as a small voice in the back of his mind insisted that there was nothing that he could have done, a larger part of him knew that he should have done more to try.

Pulling his cloak snuggly shut, he rubbed his hands together before breathing into his cupped palms, trying to capture the heat of his breath and warm his numb fingertips. He rubbed his arms and shuddered against the cold, in a futile attempt to generate more warmth, before glancing back at the trail of men and women following behind him.

The night had started out so differently. The entirety of Haven had been alight in celebration, laughter and dancing setting the atmosphere on fire with a jubilant energy. The ominous hole in the sky had finally been closed. The people were allowed a glimmer of hope and it was all because of the Herald of Andraste, a dalish elf of all people.

She denied the title at every turn, not maliciously, but more out of caution than anything else. She couldn't remember how she'd come about the mark, or what had happened before stepping out of the fade. The exotically beautiful elf was skeptical of the mysticism everyone was trying to force upon her. Cullen saw the way she would stare at her marked hand, how heavily she would contemplate its meaning and why she was the one to bear it. Whether it was Andraste or her Creators that had set her aside, the fact remained, she was their only hope. And Cullen had left her to die.

What had been the last thing he said to her? Maker, he couldn't remember. He did remember the determined furrow of her auburn brows when he'd asked her about how she'd escape. Cullen could remember with perfect clarity how her sea green eyes hardened with resoluteness, lips thinning with unwavering, semi-fatalistic, purpose. Delani Lavellan had known that the likelihood of her making it out of Haven with her life wasn't in her favor, and she didn't care.

Once the people of Haven, and what remained of the Inquisition's forces, had made it a safe distance, the flaming arrow had gone up. They'd stood atop the mountain side, holding their breaths and waiting. Then, after a minute or so, the trebuchet fired and the entirety of Haven was buried in snow; the Herald likely buried with it.

For at least the night, they had a reprieve, and it was because of an elf who'd had the misfortune of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Cullen sincerely hoped that he had the chance to thank her for providing everyone with the opportunity to make it out of Haven safely. He ignored the nagging sense of doubt that persisted that it was already too late.

"She made it." A voice deeply rumbled from his side, surprising him away from his thoughts. Cullen glanced down to catch Varric standing beside him. The dwarf was swaddled in a coat too large for him, a mug of hot tea forced into his hands the moment he, Solas, and the Iron Bull reunited with the rest of the Inquisition's forces.

They'd gone with her to face the Elder One, they were supposed to have her back, and yet they'd been the only ones to return. Cullen shook his head and looked up from the stout man. He was glad that the Herald's team had made it back safely; it wasn't that he'd rather for them all to have died in Haven, he just wished that Delani could've made it out with them.

His exhale was heavy with doubt and clouded the air in front of him. Combing his fingers through his thick hair, Cullen summoned forth the piece of him who so desperately wanted to believe Varric. When he looked back down at the dwarf, it was with a small smirk feigning at the corner of his mouth. "Maker willing," he replied.

Varric noticed straight away the lack of conviction in Cullen's features, and his brows pinched slightly with displeasure. Confidently he said, "Just give her some time to catch up," and he left Cullen's side so that he could join the others.

Rubbing the weariness from his eyes, Cullen let loose another heavy breath and turned to assist in putting together another medical tent. Many people had gotten hurt during the escape and, for some, the cold mountain air would not help them overcome their injuries. He had to keep his hands busy in order to take his mind off of his short comings in protecting the Herald.

There was this weight hovering over the camp, over the souls that occupied it. They had their lives, but what would become of them now? With Delani alive there had been a sure way of closing rifts; if she didn't come back… More than that, now they also had this Elder One to contend with.

The Inquisition was currently in a state of disarray. They had no base of operations, they had no fortifications, they had no structure, they had no leader, and Cullen knew that it would be the latter that might be their undoing. Without someone to follow, this meager force would eventually disband and all of Thedas would be doomed to fall further into chaos. But who would lead them?

He was commander of the Inquisition's forces, the men followed his every word loyally and with conviction, but Cullen knew his limitations. He had failed so grandly in the past, and he couldn't fail again, not with this. That left Cassandra, Lilliana, and Josephine.

All three women had their strengths, all three women were no strangers to responsibility or challenge, but could any of them lead an entire inquisition? Cassandra had already turned away from the role, and Lilliana's talents were best suited in the cover of shadows and mystery. Josephine was an intelligent and resourceful woman, but she couldn't lead the inquisition. She didn't have the stomach for difficult decisions or the demands of war. Her resilience as an ambassador wouldn't translate to the makings of the kind of leader the Inquisition needed. Yet again it seemed that the elf woman was the answer to one more question.

Once the tent was set up Cullen stepped away in order to join Josephine, Lilliana, and Cassandra in planning their next move. He had stalled long enough, waiting for Varric's prediction of Delani's return to come to fruition. She was likely buried with the rest of Haven. They had to move on, even if the very thought made this sickening pit form in his gut.

They were gathered around a table, a map of Ferelden splayed over its surface. The three women looked about as frustrated and hopeless as Cullen felt. Cassandra's short hair was mussed from brushing her fingers through it too often, the frown on her lips more than the irritated downward pull he'd become accustomed to; Cassandra's frown was disheartened, worried, afraid for what would come. Josephine was little better at disguising her fear. Her clipboard was still in hand out of habit, as though holding the thing would keep her grounded. Out of all of them it was Lilliana who maintained an unshakable exterior. But Cullen could still tell by the shadow in her eyes that she wasn't doing any better than the rest of them.

"With Haven gone, where will we go?" Josephine asked, pressing her clipboard to her breast as she contemplated the map spread open before them. "Our occupation of Haven was borne out of necessity. Convincing someone else to give us sanctuary won't be as easy the second time around."

"Well we can't linger about on the mountainside," Cullen stated the obvious, feeling a seed of frustration start to take root and threaten to spread. "We are vulnerable to attack, and we'll lose more people to this blasted cold."

The grunt that sounded from Cassandra was agreeing, though when she spoke it was to argue with him. "Without a benefactor, settling just anywhere would appear as trespassing. We are not the force we were at dawn, and we may not inspire the same support we did just hours ago."

"And we can't very well take claim of just anywhere." Lilliana inserted. "We're not invaders."

"No," Cullen was forced to agree with that much. Firmly gripping the pommel of his sword, he welcomed the familiarity of it, understanding Josephine's need to hold her clipboard. "But, the statement still stands: we need to move."

Delani hated the cold, she always had. She hated the way it ate through even the warmest clothing, how it chilled her nose, and made it feel like the moisture in her mouth and throat was turning into dangerously sharp icicles. She couldn't stand the way the tips of her pointed ears felt raw, attacked by the freezing wind and snow. Her clan typically stuck to warmer climate areas if ever possible, asking the same of the Inquisition seemed like asking for the impossible.

She hugged herself as she trudged through knee high snow, cursing the wind and the snow with every step. Bandits, she could deal with, bears, no problem, demons, those were new but she could handle demons; blistering cold, icy wind, knee high snow, all while wearing her poorly insulated hunter garbs, that she couldn't deal with gracefully. What Delani wouldn't do for a roaring fire right about now, who she wouldn't kill for a bowl of soup so hot it would burn her mouth.

What pushed her forward was the need to know that her team had made it out of Haven safely; also the howling wolves that were pursuing her, but she was trying not to think about them. Varric, Solas, and Iron Bull had remained loyally at her side throughout the fight at Haven. Up until a thousand year old Tevinter magister, darkspawn, hybrid, thing had appeared with an arch demon and separated them.

An arch-fucking-demon, she growled to herself as she freed her boot from the snow and pushed herself forward. Currently, the only thing keeping her trudging along was her anger. If not for her determination to exact revenge on Corypheus, she would have collapsed hours ago. Even if her current speed was a slow meander, she was moving which was much more than what her body was willing to do.

Another howl sounded through the night, closer this time. She didn't bother reaching for the daggers sheathed at her back. Her muscles were too stiff, her motions were too slow. She wouldn't be able to fight off a pack of wolves. A wolf she might be able to take down but, in her current state, a pack would tear her apart easier than a new born fennic. Last she counted there were four wolves trailing her, there were likely to be more now. If she had any luck at all they were hungry, and hopefully it would be enough to at least make it quick.

Breathing into her hands, she rubbed them together and tried to cause enough friction to at least feel the digits again. Her legs were aching, the muscles protesting each step as she took them. The bones in her side screamed with each breath, with every motion, and Delani was familiar enough with the pain to recognize that a minimum of one of her ribs was at least cracked, if not completely broken.

The last time she'd felt the familiar pain she'd fallen out of a tree. Delani had been a child, playing hide-and-seek with her father. Her mother had always scolded her against climbing, but her father secretly encouraged her wild tendencies. He'd been counting, his face buried in the crook of his arm as he casually leaned against a tree, bow slung across his torso in case they ran into any trouble.

Delani could remember herself giggling, her excitement giving away her hiding place before her father even had the chance to look up from inside his elbow. She'd made it halfway up the tree, and had planned to climb even higher when she felt something scuttle across her fingers. There was one thing that Delani hated more than the cold and the snow, and that was spiders. Ripping her hand free from beneath the spider's legs had caused her to lose her footing, her balance was thrown and she fell.

Her small body had collided with branches on the way down. The impact of being so violently returned to the ground had stolen the breath right from her lungs. She could remember the worry and the desperation in her father's light, chestnut colored eyes, could hear him calling her name and making sure that she was alright. He'd carried her back to the clan and had taken her mother's ire in stride. Afterwords, when she was afraid of climbing and falling again, he'd encouraged her back into the branches.

"You've learned the danger, da'mi." He'd said, brushing back her auburn hair as he stared at his daughter with adoring eyes. "Avoiding your fears does not destroy them. Only by overcoming them will you see beyond the tree line."

Trembling fingers reached for the carving knife strapped to her belt. She thumbed over the hilt, trying to summon the energy to keep on going even if all her body wanted to do was collapse into the powdery white sheet of snow surrounding her for miles. She wasn't afraid of climbing anymore. Spiders still made her skin crawl but the worst they did was make her uncomfortable. Her newest fear was a monster that claimed to have walked physically through the fade, the creature who had cursed her with this mark.

She either had the worst luck in the world, or the best; Delani still hadn't decided which. She'd survived whatever had happened in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, when everyone else in attendance had died. Corypheus had kindly bestowed her with this anchor, which could possibly kill her, but also closed rifts to the Fade and helped kill demons. Tonight she'd met her first Tevinter magister, and also an arch demon, and she'd come away from the encounter with her life. On a less cataclysmic level, the snow had finally stopped flurrying, but now the wolves at her back were starting to get impatient. Delani's luck was a dual sided blade, she decided, for her good luck always went hand in hand with the bad.

Her knees buckled and she fell face first into the snow. The cold white flecks greeted her bitingly, chilling her cheeks and seeping through her breeches. A groan escaped her as she pushed herself out of the snow, trying to escape winter's frosty fingers before it drained her completely of all willpower to press on.

She managed to get onto her knees but her body refused to be pushed further. Even as a deadly chorus sang into the night, she couldn't be swayed to pick herself up off of the ground. Get up, a voice said to her, its tone scolding, irate. If you stay here you'll die.

Would dying be so terrible? She'd done what she could for the Inquisition. They'd hardly needed her before anyway. Yes, they'd forced titles on her like "Herald of Andraste" and called her "The Maker's Chosen" but those had just been names supplied out of fear. She was just an elf. They'd find another.

She pulled free the carving knife at her waist and stared down at the worn hilt, admiring how the blade caught the star light and seemed to glow in the night. "Coward," she grumbled to herself, her breath clouding the air before her. Was this really going to be her undoing? A little cold and a broken rib? Was this the exemplification of what kind of people the Dalish had to offer? No wonder her people had fallen so far. She was weak and the weak died off. The laws of nature bent for no one.

Her eyes fell shut and her trembling fingers wrapped tightly around the knife's hilt, clutching it desperately as she reminded herself why she needed to get back on her feet. She had to make sure that the others had made it out of Haven safely. Delani had to be sure that her clan didn't get crushed in the chaos that this world was becoming. Her parents had raised her to be better than this. Her father would be so disappointed to see her kneeling in the snow, encumbered by her own self-doubt and weakness.

What would Varric tell others about her? The Herald of Andraste was torn apart by wolves because she broke a rib and couldn't go for a walk in the snow. It would be the shortest story ever told. That was how she would be remembered, that was how her companions would talk about her.

A pair of golden eyes appeared on the backs of her tightly shut eyelids, shining like honey held against the sunlight. They were not her father's eyes, though sometimes they reminded her of him. Those beautiful amber irises belonged to the commander of the Inquisition, and if she died now she would never see them again. What a shame it would be, to die without having gotten the chance to get to know Cullen; when there was so much that she wanted to know.

What did his laugh sound like? She'd pulled a chuckle out of him once or twice already, but Delani wanted to hear an honest to Creators laugh. Did he snort when he laughed, she couldn't help but wonder, thumbing over the tip of her knife. And that smile, she remembered the sight of it, the way the scar on his lip would scrunch up with his amusement. Her fascination with the human made her feel like an archeologist, there was still so much of him left to uncover; which she couldn't do if she was eaten alive by wolves.

Opening her eyes, she stared down at the carving knife, mustering the energy to get back onto her feet. This was not how her story was going to end. She moved her leg and braced herself against the snow. This was not how she was going to be remembered. Delani pulled herself up with a groan and waited for her head to stop spinning. She was not going to die before finding out what Cullen's laugh sounded like.

Finally she was moving again, slower than ever, but at least she moving. She returned the knife to its place on her belt, grateful that she'd remembered to bring it with her. The small blade had seen her through a great deal, and it'd see her through this too.

Delani kept going, kept moving, not daring to stop; because if she did she wouldn't be able to start back up again. The wolves were constantly at her back, waiting, anticipating, biding their time until she was no longer able to move.

The muscles in her legs ached, her bones groaning with her every step. The pain in her side had changed from unbearable to ignorable, the sharp dig was still there, consistent with her breathing, but it was just another ache. She was too tired to give a damn. The only thing that Delani cared about was moving, that was all she could allow herself to focus on. Everything else was an afterthought, background noise.

She didn't know how long she blindly traveled through the snow, couldn't bring herself to really care, but when her eyes fluttered open it was for hope to ember inside of her. There was a light in the distance, the glow of multiple fires burring, of an encampment waiting. She was so close. She was almost there.

Hope was not enough to make her move any faster. Her energy was depleted. Delani was exhausted, she was in pain, and she didn't think that she could make it much farther. There was a commotion in the distance, the sound of a horn blaring through the air. She felt it the moment that the wolves decided she was no longer worth the trouble. They fell back as she inched her way toward the orange glow of a dozen camp fires.

"There!" shouted a familiar masculine voice, the sound like a salve on a burn. "It's her!"

Cassandra was running right along side Cullen, Lilliana and Josephine coming up behind them. The smokey sound of Cassandra's voice was oddly comforting. "Thank the Maker," relief obvious in her voice, ringing almost as loudly as her concern.

Thank someone, Delani thought just as her well of energy ran dry. Exhaustion finally caught up with her and her legs gave out. She felt herself fall and waited to be met by the cold hard ground. Instead Delani was caught in Cullen's waiting arms. He swept her off of her feet and held her to his chest.

"I got you," He whispered, his tone full of comforting consolation and weary anxiety in equal parts. The sound of his voice was lulling, and she couldn't manage to open her eyes to watch his lips move. "You're safe now."

In the warmth of his arms it was easy to believe him. The feeling of his pauldron against her cheek was comforting, and Delani allowed herself to relax against him. Delirious, she murmured, "Ar ian'aan ma, vhenan'ara." Later she would hate herself for losing consciousness in his arms, but now she didn't have it in her to care.

Those who oppose thee

Shall know the wrath of heaven.

Field and forest shall burn,

The seas shall rise and devour them,

The wind shall tear their nations

From the face of the earth,

Lightning shall rain down from the sky,

They shall cry out to their false gods,

And find silence.

Cullen had grown so familiar with doubt throughout the course of his life. He had doubted the Circle, Marideth, the Templar order, he'd doubted himself more times than he could count, and he had doubted that Delani could have made it out of Haven with her life. It was the last of his doubts that felt the most foolish. Dalish or not, whether or not she herself believed, she was the Herald of Andraste. Delani was chosen, blessed, and that could not be so easily undone by an avalanche.

She was resting now, her eyes shut and her breathing was steady. Her injuries had already been tended to, her chest was bandaged and covered by fresh garbs. Cullen hadn't left her side since carrying her back to camp, he couldn't, not until she woke up and he was sure that she was going to be alright.

Seeing her stagger towards camp… never in his life had he felt that level of relief. His insides had been clawing itself apart all night, worry and fear sharpening their nails against the lining of his gut. And then the scout's horn blared, and he just knew that she'd retuned. The moment he'd heard the horn he had started running, sprinting in the sound's direction, trusting it to lead him to her.

His feet didn't slow until he saw her standing before a night blacked backdrop, snow upturned by her dragging feet. Delani sagged at the sound of his voice and he immediately recognized what her swaying stance signified. He'd moved in time to catch her and Cullen had been so surprised by how light she was. He'd held swords heavier than her. How could this featherlight creature carry so much weight when she barely weighed anything at all?

Now he sat beside her, watching her rest, knowing that she needed to sleep, but hoping that she would wake soon so that he could see for himself that she was going to be alright. She looked so peaceful as she slept, her features relaxed, and her body covered by warm furs. All Cullen could do was sit and wait, and admire her.

She was beautiful, he noticed not for the first time. Her cheekbones were sharp, not like Cassandra's, but pronounced in the loveliest way. Her nose was small, refined, cute as a button. The markings on her round shaped face, her vallaslin, were like tree branches. Leafless limbs stretching across her brow and cheekbones, and roots spreading from her lower lip down her chin in a dark crimson color. It was beautiful against the bronzy color of her skin, and distracted the eye from the light smattering of freckles that ran across her cheeks and nose. If Cullen hadn't been staring at her, he never would have noticed.

He jerked upright when he noticed her eyes start to flutter open, another wave of relief crashing over him. Finally she was waking up. She was going to be alright, he could trust that now. His hand reached for hers by its own inclination, needing to feel her skin against his, needing the reassurance that she was truly there.

She blinked several times, a pained moan sounding from her as she cradled her face in a hand. Not wanting her to try and get up, and hurt herself further, Cullen spoke to ease her back into consciousness. "Welcome back, Herald." He fought back the smile from his lips, feeling a fool for being as elated as he was that she was coming to at last.

"That's not my name," she murmured, her voice tired and pained. When she looked up at Cullen there was a slight shine of amusement in her sea green eyes, and he was overjoyed to see it. She tried to perch herself up on an elbow but immediately winced away from the pain and resigned herself to laying flat on her back.

Sighing frustratedly through her nose, she wondered, "How long have I been out?"

When she tried to wipe the sleep from her eyes Cullen realized that he was still holding her hand, and allowed her to reclaim possession of the limb before awkwardly clearing his throat and combing back his blond hair. "Not long enough," he answered. "You need to rest."

The moan that sounded from her was of agreement. Her eyes were already falling shut again, her features starting to relax. Cracking one eye open she met his gaze and wondered, "My team—"

"Made it back safely," he assured her, his tone gentle, encouraging her to fall back asleep. "You can see them once you've fully rested."

Nodding, she quietly whispered, "Ma serannas, vhenan'ara." After a few seconds had passed her breathing leveled and her body slacked.

And just like that she was asleep once more. That was the second time she'd spoken to him in her native tongue. Cullen watched her for a moment, wondering what she'd said to him. Maybe when she woke again he would ask her. Maybe, now that he knew she was alive and would be staying with them longer, he'd ask her to teach him.

Shaking his head, he dismissed the notion. Those were thoughts for another time. Delani needed to rest and he needed to let her rest. That was why when Mother Giselle tapped his shoulder, alerting him that the war council needed him, he left without argument. Mother Giselle would watch over Delani. She was safe now, and he had other responsibilities.

He'd check back in with her later. For now, he was needed elsewhere.

I'd love to know what you think!