Cullen jolted awake, his heart pounding in his chest as if it wanted to escape the cage of his ribs, the remnants of terror still clinging to his mind like cobwebs in an abandoned house. He tried to briskly lift himself from his bed, the urgency to shake off the haunting images propelling him forward. But his left hand betrayed him, feeling strangely numb and uncooperative as if it belonged to someone else entirely. With a frustrated grunt, he dropped back onto the sheets, his muscles protesting the abrupt movement.
He lifted his hand to his weary eyes, the dim light of dawn seeping through the dilapidated roof, casting shadows on the rough scars that marked his arm and the old burns etched into his palm. He attempted to clench his fist, yet, as usual, his fingers betrayed his will. Familiar thoughts of inadequacy began to encroach upon his mind. "Maker, grant me strength," he murmured, coercing himself to redirect his focus to the pressing matters at hand.
He drew a deep breath and rose from his bed, resigning himself to the vexation of diminished dexterity as he commenced his morning routine. With painstaking effort, he reached for his armor, now a daunting ordeal to don. He cursed under his breath, his frustration growing with every awkwardly fastened strap and misaligned buckle, but it would have to do for now. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to secure his armor, its familiar weight offering a semblance of comfort against his skin. Steeling himself atop the ladder for the ordeal ahead, Cullen made his way down the narrow ledge that led to his office, his movements careful and deliberate to compensate for the lack of responsiveness in his hand.
Finally, with his brow covered in sweat, he reached his table and sank heavily into his chair, the worn leather creaking beneath his weight. With a sigh, he turned his attention to the reports that lay on his desk, the neat rows of papers blurring before his eyes as he struggled to focus. With a weary hand, Cullen reached into one of the drawers of his desk and retrieved a healing potion. Miriam had brought it yesterday during their restorative magic session. As he uncorked the vial and swallowed the concoction in a single gulp, he felt a soothing warmth spread through his body, easing the tension in his muscles. After a few moments, the world seemed a little clearer as the edges of his fatigue were softened by the potion.
His mind drifted to the mage, and a pang of pain stabbed at his heart; a bitter reminder of the awkwardness that had settled between them since he had confessed his feelings to her in the Chapel. His every touch seemed to make her flinch, his every glance met with avoidance. It was as if she were trying to make herself scarce in his presence. The ache in Cullen's chest deepened as he grappled with the hurt that swirled within him. He longed for her presence, for the warmth of her embrace, and for her light which had brought him solace in the darkest of times. And as he waited for her answer, it wasn't her rejection that he feared most, it was the prospect of losing her completely; of his confession driving her so far from him that even their friendship would become impossible.
He directed yet another curse at Gaspard. If it wasn't for that bastard, none of this would have happened. With a heavy heart, Cullen shook his head, banishing the lingering thoughts of what might have been. There was no point in dwelling on what-ifs; he had work to do.
Time passed in a blur of ink-stained pages and before he knew it, the growling of his stomach reminded him of his neglected breakfast. With a rueful smile, he rose from his chair, stretching his stiff muscles as he made his way towards the door. It was time to visit The Herald's Rest.
But before he could take a single step out of his office, a messenger from Leliana intercepted him, delivering the news that she was waiting for him. A sense of unease swept through Cullen, pushing aside thoughts of food as he hastened to meet with the Spymaster. As he navigated the winding corridors of Skyhold, his mind raced with anticipation. Lately, summons from Leliana have never promised anything good.
He entered the Rookery to find the Spymaster speaking in a harsh tone to Lysette, his brows furrowing in concern as he caught the tail end of the conversation.
"... make peace with the Inquisitor," she ordered, her words echoing with an authority that brooked no argument.
But the Templar's defiance was palpable, her stance rigid with resistance. "Our relationship has nothing to do with my duty as her guard!" she exclaimed, her voice quivering with frustration. "With all due respect, it's a private matter."
A glint of steel flashed in Leliana's eyes. "You must decide, either you shall reclaim your role as the Inquisitor's confidant," she declared, her tone as cold as the winter wind that howled outside the fortress walls. "Or..." She leaned in close to the Knight, whispering something in her ear that caused color to drain from the younger woman's face. With a shaky salute, Lysette turned and hurriedly left the Rookery, sparing Cullen only a hasty acknowledgment and a terrified glance before disappearing from view.
He turned to face the Spymaster, his expression troubled. "I urge you to stop meddling in their relationship, it will end in disaster."
Leliana merely waved away his concerns with a dismissive gesture. "I have everything under control," she replied, her tone cool. Cullen's frustration simmered beneath the surface, but before he could voice his thoughts, the Left Hand continued, her next words catching him off guard. "I have summoned you to convey news of your family's impending arrival at Skyhold."
Cullen's heart skipped a beat at her words, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. "What? Why would they do such a thing!?" He demanded, his voice trembling with incredulity. But as swiftly as confusion arose, it morphed into a mounting fury. "Involving my family in your schemes crosses a line, it is unacceptable!"
Leliana's gaze hardened, her eyes burning with indignation. "Once the news of your engagement to the Inquisitor is made public, do you really think Gaspard will stand idly by? To gain leverage over you, his first move would be to target your family. Skyhold is the only place where I can guarantee their safety."
A cold shiver ran through his spine as the weight of Leliana's words settled on him. His siblings had been out of his life for so long that he hadn't considered how his actions could still ensnare them. A pang of guilt gripped his heart as he realized the potential danger that loomed over his kin. The realization was a bitter pill to swallow, stirring up all the emotions attached to his decision to remove himself from their lives.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Cullen offered a resigned apology to the woman. "I'm sorry, I hadn't considered the potential repercussions on my family," he admitted. "But Miriam hasn't given me an answer yet. Your action was premature."
Leliana's response was unexpected. An almost imperceptible smirk graced her lips as she met his gaze. "You need not worry, Commander. Fate spins as it should."
Her cryptic words left him feeling unsettled rather than reassured, but his mind was already swirling with unanswered questions that he knew he needed to clarify. "How did you manage to persuade them to leave their home and journey to Skyhold?"
Leliana's expression softened slightly as she leaned against the wall, her eyes reflecting a hint of sympathy. "I know that since you joined the Inquisition, you haven't been in contact with your family," she began, her voice surprisingly gentle. "Am I correct in assuming that you're not up to date with their current situation?"
He hesitated, torn between the urge to keep his affairs to himself and a longing to know more about his family. Despite his reservations, curiosity won, and he silently nodded in acknowledgment.
Leliana's voice carried the weight of solemnity as she began to unravel the tale of his family. "Their finances teeter on the edge of ruin. Branson grapples with alcoholism, squandering every meager coin he earns on his drinks, and Rosalie is faced with a delicate situation. Having indulged in simultaneous liaisons with multiple men, she finds herself pregnant, with uncertainty clouding the identity of the father. With such a tainted reputation, no one is keen to offer her employment."
Shock rippled through him, his mind reeling with disbelief. How could his once-innocent, sweet siblings have veered so far from the path of virtue? "And Mia?" he managed to ask, already dreading what might come next.
"Mia labors tirelessly as a seamstress, barely clinging to the edge of survival," the Spymaster said matter-of-factly. "That's why when one of my agents extended them an offer of employment and lodging here at Skyhold they all accepted it without hesitation."
Cullen's hand tightened into a fist at his side, a tumultuous storm of sorrow and frustration raging within him. The weight of guilt bore down on him like an anchor, pulling him deeper into the depths of remorse. For so many years, he had chosen the path of silence, convincing himself that they were better off without him and that they led good lives untouched by his failures. But now, faced with the harsh reality of their struggles, he could no longer deny the painful truth. With a determined effort, he forced himself to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat, struggling to regain his composure. "Do they… do they know of my involvement with the Inquisition?"
The Spymaster tilted her head. "They most likely do not, as there have been no inquiries about you thus far. Once they are here, however, I would advise you to speak with them. Given the nature of Skyhold and the close-knit community we foster, it's only a matter of time before they piece together who you are."
He nodded slowly, his expression grave as he absorbed the wisdom in Leliana's counsel. Despite the rising tide of dread at the prospect of meeting his family, he knew that the time had come to confront his past, own up to his choices, and face the consequences with courage and resolve.
For the next two days, Cullen found himself consumed by a restless agitation as he awaited the arrival of his family. Sleep eluded him, and the relentless pounding of headaches intensified, gnawing at his temples with an unrelenting fervor. His resolve, once steadfast like the cliffs that overlooked Skyhold, now ebbed and flowed like the tide. There were moments when he felt prepared to face whatever lay ahead, his heart brimming with determination to bridge the chasm that he had created between him and his kin. But then, like a sudden squall upon the sea, doubt would assail him with a ferocity that left him feeling utterly adrift.
In those moments of uncertainty, Cullen found himself alternating between pacing his office like a caged lion and seeking solace in the quiet confines of the Chapel. There, amidst the hallowed halls, he would kneel before the statue of Andraste, his hands clasped in fervent prayer, beseeching for the strength to confront the ghosts of his past.
On the third day, as he sat in his office, a soft knock disturbed his solitary contemplation. Startled from his reverie, he lifted his eyes to see one of Leliana's messengers standing on the threshold.
"Commander," the man began, his voice tinged with urgency, "I bring news from Lady Leliana. Your family has arrived and is settling into the quarters on the second floor of the main building. Their door is marked by the worn wooden sign carved with a roaring bear."
The collar of his armor suddenly felt tight around his neck. With a silent command to himself to maintain composure, he forced his features into a mask of stoicism and offered a brisk nod of acknowledgment to the messenger.
When the man departed, Cullen slowly rose from his seat and, with measured steps, made his way towards the main building. As he climbed the stairs, memories of his family flooded his mind—moments of joy, laughter, and love intertwining with the shadows of his mistakes. Reaching the second floor, he paused before the door to his family's quarters, his hand hovering uncertainly and his fingers trembling ever so slightly. With a steadying breath, he wrapped his knuckles against the weathered wood.
At his knocking, muffled voices and the sound of shuffling started to emanate from within. His heart pounded in his chest, anticipation mingling with apprehension as he waited for a response.
Then, with a creek, the door swung open, revealing a skinny young woman with messy brown hair cascading down her shoulders in wild tangles. Her ragged dress clung tightly to her form, emphasizing the swell of her belly. Cullen tried to reconcile this vision with the memory of his sister as a child but found no trace of the girl he once knew. If it hadn't been for Leliana's prior revelation about Rosalie's pregnancy, he would have never guessed her identity. Her gaze swept over him, assessing every contour before her features melted into a seductive grin. "Hey, handsome," she greeted, her voice husky as she leaned on the door frame with one hand, her other hand resting confidently on her hip. "What brings you here?"
Cullen felt a wave of discomfort wash over him as he struggled to find the right words. "I... I am searching for the Rutherford family."
Her smile deepened. "Well, you found us," she replied, her tone cheerful. "Come on in."
With a hesitant nod, Cullen stepped across the threshold, to find himself enveloped by the spacious quarters adorned with simple yet sturdy furniture. Chests and trunks lay scattered about, their contents spilling out in disarray. Before him, he noticed the occupants of the room engaged in various tasks. A blond young man, with a telltale red nose and cheeks, stood near one of the chests, his hands trembling as he rummaged through its contents. Despite his efforts, Cullen struggled to discern any familiarity in the young man's features, much like his difficulty recognizing Rosalie. This was to be expected, he reasoned, for unlike Mia, who had defied all prohibitions to visit him during his Templar training, Cullen and his younger siblings had last seen each other when he left home at the tender age of thirteen.
Recognizing his older sister methodically arranging mugs on the shelf, his pulse quickened. Though her once vibrant hair was now completely gray and her back hunched from years of toil, one look at her was all that it took. Even in the face of time and hardship, Mia has remained unmistakably herself.
At his sister's feet, the young girl with the unruly bright red hair sat on the floor, her pale fingers tugging at the straps of one of the smaller crates. There lingered a sense of familiarity in her countenance, a spark of recognition that teased at his consciousness, yet eluded his grasp.
Branson was the first to notice his entrance, casting him an exasperated glare. He swayed slightly on his feet before addressing Rosalie, "Oi, calm your tits, you cursed hag! We barely got here, and you have already dragged some bloke home."
Rosalie scoffed. "Oh, shut it, Bran. You're in no position to lecture anyone, especially when you're stumbling around like a blind mule after a barrel of ale."
"Enough, both of you!" Mia exclaimed, her voice cutting through the air like a whip crack as she turned to face them. When her eyes inevitably landed on Cullen, her expression froze in shock. The items she had been holding slipped from her grasp, clattering to the ground in a cacophony that echoed in the sudden silence that descended upon the room. For a moment, he felt as if time itself had come to a standstill, the weight of Mia's gaze bearing down upon him like a judgment rendered from the depths of the Void. Finally, Mia found her voice, though it emerged as little more than a whisper, laden with a lifetime's worth of pain. "After all this time...Is it truly you?"
"Yes, Mia, I…" He wanted to continue, to offer some feeble explanation or apology, but the words caught in his throat, suffocated by the enormity of the guilt that enveloped him. While he struggled to speak, Branson, Rosalie, and the girl looked at the scene with bewilderment.
With a shaky breath, Mia took a tentative step forward, her movements hesitant yet filled with quiet resolve. "You abandoned us," she started, her tone overflowing with bitterness. "You left us to fend for ourselves, to pick up the pieces of our shattered lives! Do you have any idea what it was like for us?" He could see the anguish etched into the lines of her face and the betrayal mirrored in her eyes. "The endless nights spent pondering why you left us gave way to years of wondering whether you were even alive!"
Cullen winced, his sitter's words landing like a physical blow. "I am truly sorry... And I understand if your forgiveness is beyond reach," he finally managed to get out. "I only ask for the chance to make amends, to try and make things right, if you'll let me."
"Mia, who's this bloke? What's all this commotion about?" Branson inquired, his words slurred slightly from the effects of alcohol.
Mia blinked at Branson's words as if his inquiry had brought her back to the present moment. With a sigh, she turned to their younger siblings, her voice tinged with a weary resolve. "Take Anna," she said, gesturing to the red-haired girl, "and go ask one of the servants to show you around the fortress. I have matters to discuss with this man."
Both Branson and Rosalie opened their mouths to protest, but Mia's stern gaze silenced them before they could utter a word. With grumbles of discontent, they reluctantly complied, casting wary glances back at Cullen before exiting the room.
His sister's weary form sank onto one of the nearby trunks, her gaze never leaving his as she spoke. "You have a lot of explaining to do," she demanded, her voice laden with a blend of hurt and frustration, "Why did you choose not to reach out to us, despite my efforts to ensure that our whereabouts were always known to the Order?"
He inhaled deeply, preparing himself to speak the truth, no matter how difficult it might be. "The fall of the Circle, it was partly my responsibility," he began, his voice heavy with the weight of confession. "I allowed myself to show leniency to a mage, and... and it led to catastrophic consequences. Lives were lost. I, too, suffered greatly. It changed me, Mia. The brother you once knew has ceased to exist. The guilt, anger, and fear of magic transformed me into a person I never wanted you to witness."
Mia's expression became inscrutable. "So you are telling me that you are to some extent to blame for Thomas' death?"
Cullen looked at her in surprise. "Who is Thomas?" he asked, confusion lacing his words.
Mia's shock was palpable as she stared back at him, her features contorted with disbelief. "You have to be kidding me," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "Knight-Lieutenant Thomas, my husband!"
Within his chest, an erratic and frenzied heartbeat surged like a tempest, each throb echoing with a disquieting intensity. His sister, bound to a Templar? Thomas…As soon as he attempted to summon memories entwined with that name, a sudden, piercing headache rendered his thoughts asunder. Crimson flashes flickered and swirled before his eyes, engulfing him in a disorienting haze of turmoil. Desperately, he clenched his eyes shut, his hands instinctively reaching to grasp his pounding head, his steps faltering as if on the edge of a precipice. The collar of his armor constricted around his neck like a tightening vice, suffocating him, while bile crept up his throat. Mia rushed to his side, concern etched deeply into her features, but before she could reach him, he collapsed to the floor, consciousness slipping away like sand through his fingers. The last thing he heard before succumbing to darkness was the echo of his sister's voice calling out his name.