Dragon Age Mary-Sue: Cullen

And so, into the dark, she trudged on; looking for Haven's lights.

The Climb -- Cullen:

The trail became more and more steep, snow lay more and more thickly around them. It slowed his progress but his strength never slackened. She Would Live Through This.

The words burned in his head like a brand, just like his decision to join the Templars, he knew he would do this.

Somehow. He would make it right.

Slowly, inexorably, he moved upwards. The going got harder and harder as the mountain pass became steeper and steeper. A wrong step would have him face-planted in the snow, like a misplaced starfish.

But no, Cullen kept going.

Muscles strained against the snow that wanted to swallow him up but still he moved forward, cutting a narrow, clear path behind him; allowing the others to follow in his wake. He would not let up.

He didn't when the Circle broke.

He didn't when Meredith became as crazy and paranoid as a nug in a room full of hungry dwarfs holding forks and ketchup.

Half climbing now, Cullen managed to push himself to move even faster. The Raven no longer needed to loop back. Cullen was always right behind. He would not let up.

The wind fluttered the long guard hairs of his foof, made the layers of his clothes flap behind him (butt-tassel waving merrily), and whipped his blond curls into a mess he would spend forever fixing later (not that he was concerned about that now). His robust pectorals pressed against the thin, lustrous, cotton gambeson that insulated him from his breast plate. The trek hadn't seemed too bad when they were first traversing it; but they had been going downward and fleeing an Archdemon or Dragon, or whatever that thing was, tended to distract a person.

Using all of his body to move meant that he could pull himself along while using his strapping legs to propel him. No matter how steep the path.

He would not let her go.

The Trudge -- Herald:

The Herald trudged onward.

Moments, minutes, hours, days, months... Years?

The snowfall and the wind was relentless against her. There would be a moments respite, enough to see a little ways ahead and then another onslaught would begin.

Was this hell? Or was this what it felt like to walk at the Maker's side? To be the 'Herald of Andraste?'

Frozen instead of flames?

The only reason she knew she was still alive was because she was very aware of the fact that she was dying.

A light ahead. With each step weighing more than the last, the Herald went towards it. She had to bring every foot to above knee in order to take the next step, forcing her way through the snow.

Yet again, the light faded as she reached it.

This time, however, the warmth remained, a little.

"Embers. Recent?" She wondered at that; wondered if it was a hallucination, a frostbitten mirage teasing her. Goading her.

She moved on.

Step. Push. Step. Push. Step. Push.

The Herald practically shoved herself forward, past the campsite, in between the mountains that were funnelling the wind she'd been trekking through. She had no way of knowing how far she had come, nor how far she had yet to go. A sideways smile tugged at her lips in an awkward mimicry of Cullen's. Remembering made it hurt less.

Well, no it didn't, but she thought of him anyways. At least she could enjoy warm thoughts.

More lights ahead. Far down an endless slope.

Perhaps if I fall, I could get there more quickly?

Shadows moved far off to her right. A hint of blond curls?

Another step.

Perhaps if I fall, I'll land somewhere warm?

Another step.

Her knee sagged underneath her.

She started to tip over then wrenched herself upright.

Another step.

Almost.

Her other leg started to give way but she managed to stay standing.

The curls were closer now, floating out of the storm; only now flashes of gleaming metal, something flapping in the wind. A fleeting hope.

A love never to be requited.

She shook her head. No, don't think about that. It doesn't matter.

Another... no.

Not another step.

Perhaps... if I... fall?

Both the Herald's knees gave way.

She looked down.

How can I walk at the Maker's side if I have no legs? She wondered distractedly.

As her knees went, so did her hips, and she fell, arms hanging limply at her sides, the cold freezing her core despite the numbing effects of hypothermia. So cold it felt like heat. It burned, strangely comforting.

Noises began drifting inter her consciousness. It took the Herald an eternity to realize it was a voice. A tenor voice. A voiced used to being heard, to command. A voice saying something she could recognize. Should recognize. But what was it?

She leaned forward to listen more closely. The voice was familiar but the words were unintelligible to her.

It had been a mistake to lean. The weight of her upper body dragged her down into the snow. As she faded she realized, "It's him. He's calling my name."

The Herald fell.

But Cullen never let her reach the ground.

Cullen Finds The Herald:

"There! It's Her!"

Cullen slid to his knees before her, just as she fell forward.

He managed to grab her shoulders in time, but her head drooped down, like she had no bones left in her neck. Instinctively, he pulled her to him and her head nestled where his collar bone would be, except it was covered in the rich plush of his foof. There was no heat coming from her but a wave of her scent wafted over him. He breathed deeply and cradled her in his arms. It wasn't enough to find her, the Herald had to be warmed immediately.

Cullen's right arm held her to him, while with his left he loosened the layers of cloth and fur that always surrounded and concealed his delectable form. Lifting her, Cullen held the Herald with his left arm as he removed the foof from his right side. He then wrapped it around her, dry-side in of course, creating a hood, and covering her to the tops of her boots.

The Herald was a powerful woman. Cullen would not ever doubt that. Thus, it disturbed him how frail she suddenly seemed. How light, even though she was a dead-weight in his arms. Proof of her strength was in his, and Haven's citizens survival.

But it had taken so much from her. It seemed somehow unfair.

The image of her turning and walking quietly to face that monster, staff in hand, with dignity. The blazes and smoke highlighting her silhouette and the wind pressed her vest against her form for an instant, showing a dynamic figure sculpted from kiln-fired-clay.

No one would doubt she was the Herald of Andraste. Least of all, him.

Gently transferring her to his left side, he put his arm under her knees and simply stood up as if she was only slightly heavier and more awkward than some very dense pillows. He was turning back to the camp just as the others arrived on the scene.

"Get her staff, I have her." he said, jerking his head in the direction of her fallen weapon.

The gravity of the situation notwithstanding, Cullen thought he heard someone stifle a naughty sounding snicker. Ignoring it, he set forth at a deceptively speedy pace. The Herald's breath was icy against his cheek.

"Maker..." he murmured to himself, "I hope it's not too late."

Deep within, past the finely crafted muscle structure of his chest, something bright, like a small, twisting vine, wrapped itself around his heart. Its thorns piercing the mental armour, freeing some of the feelings it had been protecting him from.

Every step, each falling more quickly than the last, every breath he took of the frigid air, brought the aroma of her to him. Not strong, or overly pervasive, nonetheless it made him giddy.

"This is the Herald of Andraste." he reminded himself guiltily.

But the locked doors, that he had not even seen since before the Circle broke, began to open.

Cullen ran even faster.

The Way Back:

Soft, silky, and warm material surrounded her. Hard, cold metal around that.

A shell with arms holding her.... and thick fur.

Something small and hard was pressed against her lower back. A slight shift and a mild, pleasant smell covered and warmed her like the shroud she was wrapped in. A light musk, as of a clean animal. Beyond that, a mixture of elderberries, oakmoss, frankincense, and just a hint of armour polish.

Cullen... Cully Wully... She thought, her mind moving sluggishly after the ordeals she'd survived.

Am I wrapped in his foof? I thought he never took it off. The rich fur all round her head both a comfort and a confirmation of who was there for her.

That thing in my back must be his butt-tassel, she realized. I don't know if it's so ridiculous it's cute or so cute it's ridiculous.

She continued to drift in-and-out of consciousness and potential coma.

Cullen felt her shift in his arms, realized that his tassel was in an uncomfortable place for her, and before it could become painful, his bicep rolled as he pulled her closer to his shoulder, the arm under her legs becoming more supportive. The alteration in position meant the tassel was no longer a problem. The fur round her head and neck providing cushion and insulated the Herald from the bitter chill of his armour. In so doing, her face had moved slightly closer to his. He felt the tip of her nose freezing against his cheek (shocking him slightly with the suddenness of it), bringing her mouth near his jaw.

If he turned his head far enough, perhaps?

The hood he'd jerry-rigged for her hid how close she was to him from the others, but did not hide it from her. Cool skin covered in a fine layer of dark stubble, gently coarse, but still kissable. Ebony scruff with golden locks, is that where all the peroxide went?

Drawing her closer had chased away the sharp tang of armour polish and the animal smell of his foof. Instead she subsumed by the heady scent of Cullen himself.

Against his will he found himself turning his head, he was almost grateful that her face was just slightly too far away. Instead, Cullen thought he saw the Herald's beautiful, frozen lips become a sideways smile.

Rescued:

He carried his charge through camp, people coming forward to help but backing away deferentially when they saw the look in his eyes and the determination of his stride.

No one could see the Herald for all the material she was wrapped in but all could tell who was in his arms. A few paces behind Krem carried The Herald's staff reverentially and behind him the rest of the rescue party.

Mother Giselle came out from her tent as the rest of the healers cleared a cot, prepared blankets, began warming water, and all other necessities. He laid her down on the cot they'd made available and, without removing the foof he'd wrapped her in, the healers swooped in covering her in soft blankets and moving a brazier nearer to her for added warmth. Pulling aside the makeshift hood, The Herald's face appeared. Cheeks and nose burnt from frostbite, lips pale, but she was breathing, and had finally started to shiver again. Everyone began to relax. Hypothermia would have to leave unsatisfied this time.

"Aww... She looks just like you when you're foofing." Leliana said, giggling as the Herald rubbed her face against the soft fur encompassing her sleeping form.

"What? I do no such thing!" Cullen said indignantly. Cheeks blushing hotly at the truth of the teasing. The distracting adorability of the Herald nuzzling into his favourite garment wasn't helping matters.

"Hush Cullen..." Leliana gently shushed him. "Save your energy for fixing your hair."
"But you should get the foof of yours back soon." Cassandra managed to get out, without breaking her carefully held straight face. "You look half naked without it. What will people say?" She raised her eyebrows and tried to look like she meant it.

Josephine was looking down. She could not quite hide the smirk twitching at the corners of her mouth.

"I'll get it back." he said with false casualness; absently reaching for a spare blanket and wrapping it around himself, to forestall his own shivering.

"But I'll just wait here." He paused a little too long, "Until she no longer needs it, I mean."

Josephine looked up, finally, and said with a smile. "Well, when you're fully dressed, "She coughed quietly, "when she no longer needs your foof, that is,"

Cassandra could not keep a straight face any more and began to chuckle. Josephine continued as if she hadn't heard, "We have a lot of work to do and things to discuss."

"Of Course." He sat down near the Herald and as the others turned away, Cullen was almost sure he saw The Iron Bull wink at him.

But he can't wink with one eye... Can he? He thought.

The villagers and soldiers within earshot pretended not to hear the exchange or notice Cullen shuffling his feet and scuffing his toes in the dirt; they were all so relieved to have the Herald back with them. She gave them hope.

No one noticed Varric feverishly writing in the background.