My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "I don't know, Ma'am."

  The holy Divine, shepherd of all of southern thedas, wrapped her hands around the soldier's collar and tugged him into her wrathful face. "What do you mean you don't know?"

  He gulped, his eyes widening in terror as he struggled to not make any move against the Divine. "We were only supposed to watch him," he nodded his wobbling chin at Cullen, "carry him to safety. The other guards, they handled the clean up."

  Cullen bullied into the middle of them, "Clean up?"

  "Yeah," the second spoke, "it's standard procedure to do clean up. Take everything away so the population don't get panicky, ya know."

  Tugging the beleaguered guard out of Leliana's hands, Cullen's fingers dug deep into the man's shoulder. He yelped as his thin plating pinched tighter into a nerve. Drawing the man close to his eyes, Cullen breathed, "Where do you take them?"

  Gasping like a suffocating fish, the man laid out the address in fine detail before Cullen dropped him to his trembling knees. Snatching up anything of his he spotted, Cullen whistled to Honor to follow and stormed through the privacy sheet. "Come on, we have to find her..." he began before Leliana stepped up beside him.

  She placed a finger into her mouth and whistled. A pair of horses drew up almost instantly, their breath steaming in anticipation of a run. "Let us get there quickly."

  * * *

  He expected to draw up next to a jail of some sorts, at least a building the city's guards could house law breakers in until deciding their fate. The address given to them led not into the bustling crowded section of the city but a field rotted with broken sections of old buildings prodding out of barren soil. Some fire or disaster having wiped away what was one there and never deemed worthy of rebuilding. As the horses drew up beside it, a numb chill wrapped through Cullen's gut that had nothing to do with the misting rain. Leliana pointed a finger at a pair of uniforms standing guard above a drop in the land. He leapt off his horse first, boots skidding in the mud as Honor turned the far corner running to catch up. Barely bothering to grab the reins, Cullen extended a hand to Leliana to help her down but he needn't bother. The Divine plummeted off, giving no attention to the muddy ground assaulting her holy hemlines.

  Wiping off the fine sheen coating her face from the rain, Leliana puffed out her chest and used her Divine voice on the guards. "You there!"

  The pair stopped chattering among themselves and turned a terrified eye upon the Divine. Both glanced behind to make certain she was speaking to them before touching their chests as well.

  "There was a disturbance earlier in the Cantique d'espor district."

  "Yes, your most Divine," the first guard spoke, bobbing a helmeted head downward to glare at the mud soaking through his boots.

  "We're looking for someone that was involved," Leliana continued, folding her hands up. "She's short, dark skin, wearing a blue dress." Every time Leliana summed up Lana the pounding increased against Cullen's temples. It seemed impossible that so few words could describe the light in his heart.

  "Oh, well, you can take a look," the guard turned around and pointed at the ditch behind him.

  No.

  No, that had to be wrong.

  It couldn't be...

  The guard turned back to Leliana who was stumbling to keep her face neutral. He smiled at her and added a jolly, "But it's a right mess down there."

  Slowly, as if walking to his own pyre, Cullen slid towards the edge of the small ravine. No, not a ravine. It was a mass grave dug out by erosion and rains, then helped along by a few shovels tossed to the side. Bodies lay crumpled in a pile at the bottom, each one tossed unceremoniously over the edge, no doubt by the two guards trying to strike up a conversation with the stricken Divine. He tried to glance down, hoping to look quickly over the corpses and not find any proof but it was impossible to tell. The murky world of dusk combined with rain wiped away almost all color from the world. Mud splattered across the few visible inches of skin, rendering them all featureless.

  No.

  Maker, not now. How can You be so cruel?

  He couldn't lose her now.

  Anger stampeded over grief, and giving no heed to his damp clothes, Cullen slid down the incline. It was so steep he had to lean into it, coating the front of his tunic in mud as well as the bandage. None of that mattered, a red haze rising behind his eyes as he surveyed the corpses of those that tried to kill him. That might have killed...

  No.

  Dropping to his knees, he yanked over the first body to reveal a pale face, the eyes rolled back in a never ending horror. Scarlett blood coated the clothing, clots clinging to the tattered holes where snapped bones prodded through. Sneering, Cullen tossed that one aside and moved to the others. Each one looked much the same, pale and haunted. One had an obvious broken neck, the head flopping about like a broken puppet. Probably who Lana caused to slide off the roof. None of them her, none of them could possibly be her.

  He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief but there was the last body. The skin wasn't brown but black, charred to a crisp. Sections ripped free as the garrison drug it towards its grave, revealing crimson sinew and muscle below, all of it stilled forever. The damage was so severe it was impossible to tell who the corpse was before.

  "Cullen..." Leliana's voice echoed from above him, the most haunting sound he'd ever heard from her. The Left Hand, the Inquisition's spymaster, was too terrified to peer in and see for herself.

  "I don't see her," he said, and the Divine sighed in relief. "But, there's a corpse here that's unrecognizable. Fire destroyed it, which could have been Lana's doing or..." He detached himself. He had to. Cullen couldn't think he was pulling apart a pile of bodies searching but not wanting to find the woman he loved. It was the only way he could get through it without withering to the ground in agony.

  A solitary sob echoed from above, Leliana jamming a fist in her mouth to keep from breaking down. Cullen dug across the charred body's hand, searching but hoping to not find the ring Lana wore. "I'm not, I..."

  Andraste, what was he doing?

  The hand plummeted from his own to return to the corpse's resting place, but flakes of the scorched skin stuck to his own flesh. Flakes that could have been Lana's.

  Maker, no. Please no.

  Not after everything. Cullen dropped to a knee, exhaustion or worse dragging him down to join the dead. Suckering into the mud, he sank deeper, his hand splaying out beside the impaled throat of a woman who'd tried to kill him only a few hours earlier.

  Why?

  "If um," the guard spoke, knocking his hands together, "if you can't find what you're looking for, they might have it down at the precinct. They took three capture."

  "What?!" Leliana spun on the guard, the full wrath of the Maker thundering from her as she cried, "Capture? Alive! Why didn't you say that earlier?!"

  "Ah..." the man danced back and forth, inching closer to the pit of death to try and avoid the Divine's rage. The temptation to say 'because you didn't ask' danced around his obvious tongue but he held it in check. "Not certain, Your Perfection. Sorry. They're down that street, take a left then beside the..."

  "Yes, yes," Leliana waved a hand through him, "I know the blighted way." Reaching over, she stared down at Cullen who staggered to his feet.

  Alive. There was hope.

  Trying to scrabble up the incline, Cullen grabbed onto Leliana's proffered hand and rose away from the bodies. His clothes suckered to his body, the mud slick as ice from the increasing rains but none of that mattered. Nodding once at Leliana, he snatched up the reins of his horse. She did the same, already saddled while he was working his foot into the stirrups.

  They turned their horses around, the Divine taking the lead again as she knew the way, when the second guard spoke up. "Ma'am, you should know one of the captives they took in was a mage."

  Leliana and Cullen shared a look, hope blooming bright.

  Staring between them, the guard continued to relay her news, "The injuries on that one we
re severe and they tried to save 'em, but..."

  Without another word, the wind rushed from Cullen's lungs. He sagged downward, folding in on himself until his face skimmed near the horse's mane. But... Maker, no. How could he had failed her? She was winning when he last saw her, before he...he failed. His weak body broke down from a damn sleep spell leaving her alone, vulnerable. No!

  Something tugged his horse forward and he rose up to watch Leliana sitting rod straight in her saddle. She glared at the guards yet didn't speak to them.

  Her voice only thundered in Cullen's direction. "We must head to the precinct. If not to find her, to..."

  Rippling with the wrath of a fire hotter than anything a mage could conjure, the anger took control over Cullen's body. Yes, if they lived, the ones who...who hurt her, they'd pay. Snatching up his reins, he dug into his horse's flank and drove it into a gallop. Behind them the rains washed away the names of those fallen assassins.

  * * *

  Water dripped down the walls to pool in a divot upon the pitted floor, green mold sprouting from its attention. Lana tried to stretch away from it but her body was beyond her reach, every inch of her skin enflamed from her constant mana pooling, pain rattling the fibers of her soul. Gently, she drug her tingling fingers across the cold ground causing the manacles around her wrist to rattle. When was the last time Lana had been chained?

  Sure, she'd been imprisoned a fair bit over the years. Usually while undercover for the grey wardens or other reasons, but people rarely had the gall to shackle up the Hero of Ferelden. Even when she was trespassing upon pain of death they preferred to kick her into a deep, dark hole and secretly wait for her to break out instead of dealing with the headache of finishing the job.

  Ah, yes. It was Drakon. When she woke from their capture to screams of Loghain's torture victims to find Alistair... Lana couldn't stop a foolish blush from that memory. They could have died, were facing Maker only knew what at the hands of Loghain, his turncoat daughter, or one of Howe's goons. And yet, she couldn't take her eyes off him stripped of everything but his underclothes. Andraste, why did he had to wear such small, well, smalls?

  Returning to the tower after was awkward not just for her, but the new King as well. They'd barely spoken a word to each other while chasing after the archdemon, their greatest work yet ahead of them, and Lana still stewing over Alistair's decision to cut her from his life. But there was a moment when they both spotted the door that led back to their cell, the one they lied their way through to freedom that Alistair's eyes landed upon hers and she almost saw regret.

  The guards who snatched her up this time and manacled her hands - as if that could stop a mage - hurled her into a cramped cell upon her stomach. She landed onto the stone floor, her remaining breath bursting from aching lungs while water dripped near her face. In the corner, she spotted a stack of straw for sleeping but Lana was beyond crawling to it. What she needed was to rest, to recuperate, and to try to dampen down the headache burrowing through her skull.

  Which would be much easier to accomplish if it weren't for the man in the cell beside her and his constant jabbering. The false templar had carried on and on from the moment he woke up to the point Lana wished she'd severed his vocal cords during the fight. A never ending diatribe perforated her ears whenever she tried to shut her eyes and chase the fade.

  "What are you doing, mage?"

  Sighing, Lana plopped her hands down on the stones extended from her face. Without any true templars, they'd left a random guard in charge of 'watching the mage and making sure she didn't do any spell casting.' Since he had no concept of true magic or what puncturing the veil looked like, he assumed her slightest movements were cause for concern.

  "I am breathing," she said, struggling to roll to the side. From her vantage point, all she could see of the guard were his shoes - worn to the near breaking point with a toe prodding from the top - and up to his knees. The uniform was better tended but covered in mud at the hems and wet. Most likely it began raining sometime during her capture or perhaps after. She'd been a bit in and out of it as her mind tried to shelter her from the pain shattering her veins.

  "Fine," the guard harrumphed, "but don't go throwing any fireballs around here."

  "As you say," Lana said trying to part her hands. With the crushing weight upon her gaunt wrists she could barely move them. Blinking, Lana struggled to lift her head, "Ser, could you tell me? Do you know if Cul...The Commander, did he survive?" She gritted her teeth, terrified of the answer while needing to hear it.

  But the man didn't damn her heart or lift it. He stomped a foot and snarled, "Wouldn't you like to know."

  "Yes, that is why I asked..." she began when the damn man in her sister cell piped up in his raspy scream.

  "He's dead. Destroyed. Broken, as the chantry shall be! The Inquisition's traitor templar destroyed. It will be war, you sheep who cower in your little homes. You'd rather collar yourselves to the whims of a few robes than face the truth. Let them build their college, let them destroy the very fabric of society we built! Not anymore! The war is coming." He giggled, so certain of his prowess. "The war is coming."

  "Maker," Lana groaned, her eyes rolling skyward, "if You don't take him, at least take me."

  The guard seemed to be sick of it as well, having to overhear the same basic idea for the last hour and half. Templars good, mages bad, reigniting war only hope. He liked to throw around sheep often as well, which made Lana dream of stuffing a ram in his cell and seeing who got out alive. Darting ahead quickly, the guard slammed a hand against the bars causing the shrieking man's thought to vanish.

  "Quiet down!" the guard shouted gruffly before sliding back to watching over Lana as if she was the real threat. She snickered in the back of her mind; in truth she was, but not now. Give her time for feeling to return to her fingers and the mana to shore up her body and she could easily blow a hole through the wall. For now, laying on the ground was preferable, and with the jabbering idiot silenced it seemed possible.

  "You're going to die."

  Or maybe not.

  She hadn't spoken a word to the idiot since he woke, preferring to leave him to the machinations of the Val Royeaux guard force. But seeing as how they only knew to toss both of them into cells and ignore it, her options were limited. Glancing once over at the guard leaning back against the cell across from her and in no mood to silence the man, Lana spoke up. "Is that so?"

  "How long's he been keeping you, like a pet? Poor little lap mage that barks when ordered at the big templars whims and for what? You're gonna hang for his death."

  "So will..." she scrunched up her nose, struggling to keep up with the man's madness. "Wait, I thought you loved templars and hated mages."

  "He was no true templar."

  Oh, Maker. Not the true templar argument. This man was truly beyond reason.

  "No templar would allow mages, known malifecarum to walk free before his nose. He would cut them down before letting their shadow fall upon him."

  "Is that so?" He knew nothing of templar or chantry law, she was certain of that. Which made it an even bigger question of what was driving these people.

  "All mages should be corralled, controlled, brought to their knees to either serve the cause or be eliminated."

  "Right," Lana shook her head, placing her cheek tighter to the cold ground.

  She saw it before they yanked her away, Cullen's chest rising in a breath. He wasn't dead, not when she left him, couldn't be. But what if... No, Lana shook her head, they would have brought in the best healers in Val Royeaux to help him.

  If they weren't fast enough...

  A twang, as if a lute string stretched too far, snapped inside her mind. Digging her fingers into the ground, she imagined that chattering man's neck beneath them as he gasped for breath. The only thing keeping him alive right now was the fact she knew nothing of Cullen's fate. If he...Andraste preserve her, but if that bastard did manage his goal then he would wish she'd have killed him on the
streets. Their entire false templar order would pay, everyone who ever worked for them, who passed information. She would tear the entire structure down one by one, leaving them jibbering husks as a warning to the rest.

  You want to pith mages, well mages can do it right back.

  "Mage..." the guard warned.

  The red haze around Lana's vision faded and she spotted sparks dancing across her fingers. She hadn't meant to split apart the veil like that. It called out to her, through her mind without a thought. Even out of practice and with barely the ability to stand, mana sang to her, the fade itself percolating through her blood.

  "Sorry," Lana muttered, trying to tap down on vengeance stringing every nerve in her body. It would have to wait. She needed to take inventory, time, prepare before unleashing the full wrath of the Hero of Ferelden.

  The chittering idiot kept up, thundering how soon he'd hear the lamentations in the streets. People'd call for the extermination of all mages for taking down the Inquisition's templar, the chantry would fall in ruins. She tried to drown it out, humming a song under her breath to combat the blood rushing through her ears. Lana didn't even realize what the lyrics were, each one echoing louder in her scratchy throat, until she all but screamed "Lion of the Sky!" at the wall.

  Silence broke, the false templar's chattering fading in surprise. It wasn't the heartbroken woman who cried out the song devoted to Cullen, but wrath itself given form. She snarled the final syllable, her throat rasping in anger to lift her from the depths of despair and aim it all to a purpose. The energy faded as soon as it struck, and Lana flopped back to the floor, her bubbling emotions costing her. Water from the rains outside dribbled against her face, trying to clear away her own salty tears.

  "Mage..." the guard began.

  "I'm not doing anything," Lana said, shoring any whimper out of her throat. She was in no position to show weakness, perhaps never again.

  "Stand up, mage!" the guard ordered, his feet slotting to attention.

  Lana snorted, her fingers splashing in the puddle, "Shall I pluck a star from the sky while at it. It's about as likely to occur."