Chapter Text
There was a particular horn blast in Skyhold that was only used to announce the Inquisitor’s return. Two long blasts followed by a shorter one. It was a sound that Cullen had been conditioned to associate with happiness and his heart raced every time he heard it. It was later in the afternoon when he heard the horns today. Unusual because she wasn’t due back for another two days, at least.
He wiped his brow, covered in sweat from training. He pulled on his shirt and headed toward the main gates. They were wide open and awaiting her arrival. Down the trail he could see a single horse, racing toward them. As it approached, he grew more concerned. He made out Dorian, urging the horse with the reins in one hand while the other kept Dejah’s smaller form against him, her head lolling against his chest.
The horse came to halt, panting, with froth on its sides. It wasn’t Dorian’s horse, nor did it belong to any in their company. Dejah was unconscious and dried blood smeared her cheek. She was incredibly pale. Dorian didn’t look much better. Bags were prominent under his eyes. His hair was mussed and his mustache, usually impeccable was untended.
“What in the Maker’s name happened?” Cullen asked, gently taking Dejah in his arms while Dorian helped shift her off the horse.
“A rift opened up over our camp the night before last. We barely made it out of our tents.” He slid off the horse. Pointing to an onlooker, he yelled for them to bring healers to the Inquisitor’s quarters. He turned back to Cullen, walking by his side as they made their way through the main keep.
“A demon manifested inside of her tent. Something happened to the supports while they fought. We couldn’t get to her until we killed the rest. She’d killed it but it swiped her stomach. Badly.”
“Why didn’t you take her to a camp?” Cullen asked, clearly concerned.
“None near us had healers with enough experience. The wound is poisoned. I rode through the day and last night to get her here.” Dorian explained. It showed. He was exhausted.
“Why didn’t you heal her?” Cullen’s voice had turned accusatory.
“I did what I could!” Dorian snapped back. “I deal with the dead, not the living. If not for me, her insides would be on the outside!”
“I’m sorry, Dorian.” Cullen said quickly, immediately regretting his outburst. “I’m just-” He couldn’t say it out loud.
Dorian paused for a brief moment while unlocking the door to her stairwell and quarters. “I’m scared too.” He said quietly.
Cullen took the stairs two at a time, careful not to jostle her too much. Dorian was right on his heels. They left the doors thrown open so that the healers could gain access. Laying her down on the bed, the two worked to remove her bloody armor. Dorian had packed bandages beneath it against her stomach, letting the armor compress over the wound and protect it from further harm.
They got her down to her shirt and leather riding pants. Cullen was pressing against the blood soaked bandages. There was so much soaked into the cloth and her clothing that he wondered how much could possibly be left in her. Around the edges of the bandage veins of black were crawling slowly over her skin. The sickness of the wound spreading with her weakly beating heart.
Dorian rested a hand on her forehead and closed his eyes. A warm light glowed under his hand for a few moments. When Dorian took his hand away, it was shaking. His dark skin looked pallid.
“What are you doing?” Cullen asked. “Are you okay?”
The Vint nodded and sat down heavily on the side of the bed. “I’ve given her some of my energy.” His eyelids looked heavy. “I don’t think I can spare any more.”
Rapid footsteps sounded on the stairs. The healers finally arrived, Solas in the lead. “Ser Cullen, Ser Dorian, kindly vacate.” The words were a request, but the tone was a command.
“Absolutely not.” Cullen said, as much if not more force in his tone.
“I stay as well.” Dorian announced, standing. He moved to one of the chairs by the fireplace and sat down heavily. “I will stay out of the way though.”
“At least back away from the bed.” Solas told Cullen, clearly annoyed. Reluctantly, Cullen removed his hands from the bandages and backed off to the side.
Solas peeled off the wad of blood-soaked bandages and Cullen sucked in a breath. Her ran his hand through his hair, fisting it at the back of his head. The bite of pain helped distract him. It didn’t even register that her blood was now smeared through his hair.
It hadn’t been just one swipe of claws across her torso. It looked like the demon had held her down and used her to sharpen his claws. Most of the wounds were now just angry red marks, thanks to Dorian. The worst of the wounds was what took his breath away.
Three swipes ran from under her left breast across her stomach to part way between her belly button and right hip bone. The edge of all three were black and appeared to be rotting. Dark red blood and black puss oozed from the wounds. The last one in the line, closest to her hip, was deep. Very deep. Dorian hadn’t been exaggerating. Without his intervention she would have surely died immediately after the attack.
He glanced at Dorian, the man who had saved her life. He rested his elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. Unable to help Dejah, he went to the mage to get out of the healers’ way. He knelt down beside his chair. “Are you okay?” He asked, concerned.
Dorian raised his head and gave a weak smile. “I’ll be perfectly fine.” He assured Cullen with false bravado. “I just need-” The last word drifted off when he passed out. Cullen caught him as he fell forward and carefully eased him back in the chair.
“Hey!” He called out to one of the healers. “I need help over here!”
One of the healers turned to help, but Solas cut them off. “He isn’t important.” Solas argued, trying to keep his concentration on Dejah.
“Dorian saved her life!” Cullen snapped. “She’ll be furious when she wakes up and finds out you didn’t deem the Tevinter mage ‘important enough’.”
Solas didn’t respond, but nodded to the hesitating healer. She rushed over to kneel down in front of Dorian. After a few moments, she looked up at Cullen. “He’s very, very weak, but he’ll be okay. He needs to sleep, badly. Can you bring him over to the couch?” She requested.
Though he was heavier than Dejah and his height made it awkward, Cullen was still able to easily lay the prone mage down on the coach by the hearth. The healer quickly stepped in to tend to him again. Cullen backed off a few paces and looked over the room. He could only see Dejah’s feet. The rest of her was blocked by a wall of healers.
His heart pounded in his chest. His hands ached for want of action. But there was nothing he could do. There wasn’t an ounce of healing ability in him. All he could do was repeat in his head that she would be okay. Maybe if he said it enough he would start to believe it. The healers in Skyhold were the best.
The dark inside of him kept creeping forward. It showed him scenes from past battles. Wounds he’d observed in others. Wounds that were fatal. Wounds inflicted by magic, mortal blades and abominations. Some of which were far less than the wound Dejah suffered from now. Soon, only the picture of the gaping wounds on her stomach with the decaying black edges was all he could see in his mind’s eye.
Trying to distract himself, he moved to the water basin and cleaned his hands, turning the water a dull pink. He felt a tickle on his cheek and realized it was a tear. More than one. He hadn’t cried in a very long time but the tears were flowing freely now. He brushed them away quickly and stalked out to the balcony. He let the cool mountain air blow around him. Yet, he couldn’t calm himself. His hand moved to the back of his neck and he looked up into the cloudless sky.
“I know I don’t deserve her. I never understood why you brought her into my life.” He prayed to the Maker. “But surely you are not so cruel as to punish me by giving me her love and then taking her away. No one deserves that pain. She doesn’t deserve to be used like that!” His hand slammed down onto the railing. A sharp pain shot up his arm. Probably fractured. He ignored it. “She doesn’t deserve to die because I love her.” He said, quieter. “I’m not the only one who needs her. Just tell me what you want of me and I’ll do it. Anything.”
“Cullen?” A soft, accented voice startled him. He brushed at his cheeks again and turned to find Josephine frowning at him. Tears were in her eyes as well, a few running down her cheeks.
“How long have you been standing there?” He asked quietly. He was terrified of how weak he felt. Raw emotion with no walls to hide behind.
“Long enough.” She said gently. Without another word, she went to him and wrapped her arms around him. After a moment of hesitation, he returned the hug, holding her tightly. It was a relief to have someone, anyone at that moment.
“She’s going to be okay.” Josephine whispered. “She’s so strong, and she knows that we need her. That you need her. You said you don’t deserve her. But, that’s not your choice to make.” She stepped back to look up at him, grabbing his hands to hold in her own. “It isn’t the Maker’s either. It’s hers. She has decided you are worthy of her. Do you hide anything from her? Does she know of your past?”
“I don’t and she does.” He replied.
“And she still loves you. If you can’t trust her judgement, why do you follow her? Why do you love her? You must see yourself at least a little bit through her eyes. We can all see how much you love her. If you well and truly believed you didn’t deserve her, then you would have let her go a long time ago. The man you used to be may not have deserved her, but the man you are now, the man you are with her, certainly deserves her love. That’s why she gives it to you. Trust her.” She urged, squeezing his hands.
He was struck by her words. He struggled to process them against the deeply held beliefs of his worth. He had wasted so much time with that stupidity. It kept him from fully being with her. There was always a part of him that was prepared to leave or be left. That he would get what he deserved.
“Josephine, I-thank you. I don’t know what else to say.” He stammered.
“Don’t waste any more time. Take her for the gift that she is.” She urged, smiling softly.
“I hope I didn’t waste all the time we had.”
-----
The next few days would only be remembered as a blur. On the first night, the sun had set and darkness fell over the sky, mirroring the mood in Skyhold. Dark and brooding and lacking all light from stars or moon. All of the healers had departed except for Solas. The elf sat by the hearth, completely engrossed in an ancient tome about demons.
Dorian was still passed out on the couch. Healers had checked on him before they left and reassured Cullen that he just needed a good sleep. No harm done. Dejah’s state was far more precarious. Her grevious wounds couldn’t be completely healed. Solas had explained that they would risk sealing the poison in her body and killing her for sure.
They had healed her enough that she wasn’t bleeding freely any more. The wound still wept thick, black fluid. To allow him to focus on research, Solas showed Cullen how to change her bandages. It had to be done every hour. They had to dispose of the bandages in a fire outside. They’d tried the hearth in her room but the noxious smoke made Cullen’s eyes water.
Cullen sat beside her bed now, watching her sleep fitfully. Her eyes moved rapidly beneath her eyelids and her brows furrowed occasionally. She was no longer pale. Instead, her cheeks were flushed with a growing fever. He grasped her hand, pulling it to his cheek. The mark made his skin tingle slightly, as it always did.
He had the overwhelming urge to talk to her. There were so many things to say. He glanced over his shoulder at Solas. The elf was still buried in his book, but Cullen didn’t want to chance him hearing the intimate words. So instead, the hours were filled with bandage changes, the crackle of the fire, the occasional shuffle of pages and the soft, even breathing of Dorian. The hours flew by, despite the agonizing slowness of each minute’s passing.
At some point Cullen fell asleep. The healer who came to take the care shift after Solas found him sitting in the chair, laying folded over the bed. His head rested near her hip and his hand was resting gently on her thigh. She changed the bandages as gently as she could, trying not to wake the exhausted Commander.
It was late in the afternoon when he woke again. Though, it hadn’t been his choice. Dorian woke with a start, shooting up into a sitting position and crying out. Cullen shot up as well, reaching for a sword that wasn’t at his side.
Both the mage and the former Templar gathered their bearings quickly enough, embarassed by their reactions. Dorian looked sheepish as he slid off the couch and walked to the side of the bed. “She’s still with us?” He asked quietly.
Cullen nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face in an attempt to wake up. “For now.”
“That’s rather fatalistic, isn’t it?” Dorian asked, running a hand through his untamed hair.
Rather than reply, Cullen pulled back the bandages on her stomach. The dark veins from the wound hadn’t grown but they certainly hadn’t receeded either. The black against her pale skin was shocking and Dorian sucked in a hiss of air between his teeth.
“Fasta vass.” He whispered. “It smells foul.” He commented, watching Cullen prepare new bandages, covering the macabre wound.
“Solas says that her body could give out at any time. He doesn’t know what the poison is or how to reverse it. Until he can figure it out we just have to hope she can fight it off.” Cullen said, his tone flat. “The good news, if it can be called that, is that it isn’t spreading any more.”
Dorian laid a hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “I have some books in the library that might be able to shed light on the nature of it. I’ve slept enough. I trust you’ll watch over her so I don’t have to worry.”
Cullen nodded and Dorian headed toward the door with no mention of his disheveled state or need to bathe. The vanity of the mage was lost when his best friend’s life was on the line. Cullen noted that it didn’t look like he’d slept enough. He was slightly pale, the dark circles still under his eyes. Dorian had already disappeared down the stairwell before Cullen thought to thank him. He really owed Dorian. Dejah may yet die, but because of Dorian, she had a good chance at living.
At some point in the next few days, Bull and Cassandra returned home. Despite having the extra time to get home, they hurried as much as they could. They were both clearly fatigued and nursing wounds of their own. Cassandra kept her left arm close to her chest and Bull limped a little more than usual. Immediately the two companions made their way to Dejah’s quarters.
Cullen was sitting off to the side, eyelids heavy and head drooping. A healer was tending to Dejah, but he refused to sleep.
“You look a fright.” Cassandra commented, striding into the room.
Bull followed after, ducking to get into the door. “How’s she?”
Cullen roused himself, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing them. “It varies moment to moment.” He said, standing.
“They haven’t healed her yet?” Cassandra asked darkly, her tone promising punishment.
“Not completely. There was some kind of venom, poison. It has a hold of her.” Cullen explained. He ran a hand through his hair. Bull was quick to notice the dried blood in the curling locks. It was a dull, rusty red, clearly over a day old.
“When’s the last time you bathed?” Bull asked gruffly, sitting down heavily in a high backed chair that gave him a view of Dejah.
“I’m not leaving her.” Cullen stated vehemently.
“No one is asking you to.” Cassandra pointed out. “We can stay with her and have water sent up here. Do you want her to wake to you smelling of the training grounds, covered in her blood?” The seeker asked with a raised brow.
Cullen gave it some thought, eyes moving to the bed and the prone form that seemed to grow smaller by the day. “You’re right.” He finally ceded. “I won’t take long.” He promised. Even knowing her loyal friends were at her side, he had a hard time leaving her. He would never forgive himself if he wasn’t there when she….
-----
Josephine, miracle worker that she was, quickly devised a schedule that ensured Cullen was never alone with the Inquisitor. There was always someone there to stay with her if he had to sleep, bathe or tend to a fire only he could put out. Everyone did their best to make sure that didn’t happen often.
Nearly all of those closest to her were missing from the schedule. Cassandra took over his duties with reports while Bull and his Chargers worked with the training of recruits. Dorian was surrounded by piles of books, the normally orderly library in complete disarray. Solas only came up personally when her health dipped. Luckily, it was only a couple of times but each one had Cullen’s heart racing.
It was the sixth night since the attack when Solas and Dorian came bounding up the stairs. The former cradling various herbs and phials of ingredients in his arms while the latter was reading aloud from an open book balanced in one hand.
Varric had been sitting by the bed, quietly reading while Cullen napped on the couch by the fire. Cullen woke abruptly when Solas ordered the dwarf out of the way. He moved quickly and without retort, sensing the severity of the moment. Cullen stood up, looking at Varric but the man only shrugged. He had no idea what was going on.
“Dorian?” Cullen asked, keeping his distance, though it killed him.
“I found it!” Dorian said quickly, setting the book on the side of the bed to help Solas set down his bounty. That was the only attention given to them as the two mages turned back to Dejah. Dorian rattled off ingredients and instructions to Solas, most of which Cullen couldn’t begin to understand. Hundreds of questions ran through Cullen’s mind, but only one mattered.
Will it work?
Cullen didn’t even notice when Varric left. His focus was solely on Dejah. He paced the room behind Solas and Dorian, careful to keep his distance. He didn’t even know how long it had been since they started. Having woken from a nap, he’d never determined where in the sky the sun had been. It was starting to get dark now though so he lit candles around the chambers so that the mages could do their work uninterrupted.
He stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed tightly over his chest. While the preparation was time consuming and complicated, the actual process of drawing out the poison was simple. A paste of herbs, supplemented with magic, was pressed into the wound. The black ooze that seeped from the wound was drawn into the poultice, turning it black and putrid. Over and over the poultice was removed, the wound was cleansed and another poultice was made.
At first, the change was so gradual that he wasn’t sure it was working. He finally began to notice that the black veins were receding back toward the wound, the skin growing a healthier pink instead. By the time full darkness had enveloped the sky, the mages were nearly done with their work.
Dorian was grinding another batch of herbs, this one smaller than the last. His fingers were stained green, bright lines of color underneath his fingernails and tucked around his cuticles. Solas was cleaning the wound gently with hot water, insuring that the previous poultice had been completely removed.
“One more, I believe.” The elf said solemnly. “We should pack it and leave it until morning. That should draw out the rest.” He was gently probing the wound. It was bleeding lightly, which might have been concerning, but Cullen was relieved to see mostly red seeping from the gashes. He sent a quick prayer to the Maker as Dorian packed the wound once more, then gently bandaged her stomach.
While Solas gathered their things, deciding what would need to stay or go, Dorian cleaned his hands and laid his palm gently on her forehead. He acknowledged Cullen for the first time in hours with a smile.
“Her fever is breaking.” He informed the Commander.
“Does that mean she’s going to be okay?” Cullen asked, almost not daring to.
“One can never be certain. The injury was quite a unique phenomenon.” Cullen wanted to throttle Dorian. “But, that being said, she does appear to be on the mend.”
“I think it is safe to say,” Cut in Solas. “that the worst is behind us. I believe that her recovery is no longer a matter of if, but rather, when.”
Cullen let out sharp exhale and closed his eyes. The vice around his heart released, sending a swell of emotion through him. For days the only thing he had felt was fear. An abhorrent dread that washed away everything else. Not even his lyrium withdrawal had made it to the forefront of his mind.
“I’ll stay tonight, just to keep an eye on our girl.” Dorian said, settling down on one of the couches. His permanent state the last week had been perpetual exhaustion. Candles burned throughout the night in his library. Every time food was brought up he was awake, no matter the time of day. No one had actually caught him sleeping since he’d woken the day after their return.
Solas bid them goodnight and departed, leaving the two men with the Inquisitor. Cullen moved to the side of the bed and brushed her hair behind her ear. The back of his fingers ghosted gently down her cheek, no longer bright with fever.
“Dorian, I don’t know how I can possibly repay you. It wasn’t just her life that you saved.” Cullen said, slowly dragging his eyes away from Dejah. He glanced over at the mage, expecting an answer, instead finding him already fast asleep. Pulling a blanket off of the arm of a chair, he unfolded it and rested it over Dorian.
Cullen sat down in the quiet of the night next to the bed, pulling the chair close. He clasped her smaller hand in his and simply watched her. Tuning out the crackle of the fire, he instead listened to her soft, even breathing, no longer labored. Many a night when sleep evaded him, he’d done the same but he had never been so grateful as tonight to be able to do so.
-----
Dejah first became conscious of the bothersome light that made it past the barrier of her eyelids. It was sharp and painful, making any further blissful sleep impossible. Slowly, she became aware of her body. Everything was sore. How long had she been laying in bed? And her stomach. Something definitely wasn’t right there.
She opened her eyes slowly. Brilliant flashes of color slashed across the floor from the stained glass on the balcony doors. Realizing that someone was holding her hand, she looked down at it, raising her head only as far as she needed. Long, calloused fingers were threaded through her own. A dull green light shone from between their palms.
Her eyes moved upward, following the arm. Toned muscle disappeared beneath rolled up sleeves. The other hand supported a book. Her eyes quickly moved to his. The amber shone brightly in the sun. His pupils reacted to the light by shrinking, leaving more of the golden irises. It was then that she realized he was reading aloud. The scar on his upper lip caught her attention. The way that it moved when he talked was somehow alluring.
His hair was a rich golden straw color, softly curled and falling where it would. The voice was warm and she found herself lost in it, despite the fact that she wasn’t paying attention to the words it formed. She watched him for a while, using him as a distraction from the pain in her body, hoping her mind would clear.
She didn’t know how long she’d been watching him read to her until his eyes glanced over. They went back to the book for a moment until it registered that she was looking up at him.
“Dejah!” He gasped, the book falling to the floor as he scooted to the edge of the chair. His free hand cupped her cheek as he squeezed her hand. “Thank the Maker, you’re awake!” He looked over his shoulder and she followed her eyes to the couch. Her vision was still too blurry to determine anything more than that someone laid across it. “Dorian! Wake up!”
He looked back down at her, a smile gracing his lips and making his eyes shine. “I thought I lost you.” He said softly, meant only for her. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Such emotion behind the words and in his eyes. She frowned, brows furrowing. It was right there. Something. A name. A memory. She willed anything to come to her mind’s eye. But it wouldn’t.
All she could do was look into his excited eyes and ask the one question that came to her first.
“Who are you?”