Chapter Text
13th Firstfall, 9:52 Dragon
Blighted boils pulsed like corrupted hearts, the wet slap of tentacles punctuating every beat as they writhed over the ruins. Ghilan'nain was... horrifying. That was all Cordelia could think when she finally laid eyes on the Evanuris. It would take more than a single blow to defeat that towering monstrosity. She was too far away to make out many more details of the elven mage's grotesque form, and she considered that for the best. For their part, Rook's companions seemed unfazed by the sight, automatically sorting out a strategy and directing Cordelia and Cullen where to go. Whatever happened, Cordelia prayed to whatever being was out there in the Void that it wasn't too late to reach Ash and pull her back from the brink.
It had been months. Months since Cordelia had first seen Ashvalla in the Hossberg Wetlands, her entire body ablaze. Months of research, worry, investigation, disappointment. Each encounter with Ghilan'nain—whether Cordelia was present or not—in which she survived was a blow that wrenched at Cordelia's insides. The failure at Weisshaupt, where Ghilan'nain's archdemon was slain, but the goddess remained alive. The failure in the Wetlands, which Rook considered a glimmer of hope, given that they'd been able to wound Ghilan'nain and forced Elgar'nan to intercede.
Cordelia saw it as another reason for the Evanuris to tighten her leash on Ash, putting her at greater risk of corruption. Not only that, but the battle in the Wetlands led to Venatori and Antaam infiltrating Arlathan Forest, to an entire clan being kidnapped for sacrifice... It was maddening to have the forest she'd come to call her home filled with such… evil. The magic that wove through Arlathan had always been a thrum, one she'd grown used to; Cullen took longer to adapt, but even he was able to tune it out for the most part. When the Venatori came… Cordelia had not missed the incessant itch of blood magic. Blood magic, the corruption of spirits, the blighting of the earth… Cordelia hated it all, and she worried for her clan elsewhere in the forest. The few messages they'd exchanged suggested things were as stable as they could be, at least.
Learning more about why Ghilan'nain went after Ash didn't help them get her back. Not that they had much time to look; barely a few days after rescuing the clan from the crater, Elgar'nan moved the sun.
Now, the sky bled crimson light, the sun was eclipsed, and the stars aligned for the Evanuris' ritual. Rae appeared soon after the panic started and rushed both Cordelia and Cullen into their armour. Luckily, Cordelia had prepared an emergency bag, primarily filled with healing supplies, and didn't have to worry about gathering things in the moment. They headed through the eluvian within a quarter of an hour. Only then did Rae explain where they were going, that Ghilan'nain would be there. That Ash might be there. This could be their chance to end things once and for all. None of them were keeping their hopes high, but... it still simmered.
They caught up to Rook and the others in the Crossroads, near the eluvian that led to the Isle of the Gods, as they called it. Rook sized them up, then nodded, and onwards they went.
The trek across the island wasn't easy, despite their attempts at sneaking their way to the ritual site. Cullen was the largest obstacle to their stealth, but even so, they managed to create a distraction before continuing onward. Rae's daggers were perpetually in her grip, her fingers wrapping and unwrapping around the hilts whenever they had to stand still for more than a few moments. Cordelia didn't know her well enough to know how to soothe her, though she doubted the rogue could be soothed. She doubted any of them would calm down until Ash was safe and Ghilan'nain was dead. Cordelia knew what she was supposed to do. They'd talked about it more than once. Rae would have her vengeance, and Cordelia would save Ash. That was the plan. Rae's goals included a few more steps than Cordelia's—steps involving Solas, who hadn't been important to Cordelia in… a long time—but those would come after. First, they had to survive.
Then, they had to face Ghilan'nain and her thrall—the ghost of Ashvalla that Cordelia would tear back from the brink. She had to. She would not entertain any other possibility.
Brittle bones popped and ached. Skin stretched taut to contain their overflowing mana. In their chest, a fire raged, and without anything to consume, they turned inwards while their master worked to perfect them. The flaw in their master's design had to be incinerated. Their gait stuttered, unsteady, jerky like a puppet on poorly controlled strings, but they remained upright. Their magic was stronger, hotter. More capable of fulfilling their purpose: destruction.
At their master’s call, they limped down the sloping hill, flames burning higher in their hands. Their master's tentacles flailed, her magic pulsing into the ground.
An elf and a human broke off from the group of attackers and came running towards them. No matter, all mortals died in the end. A ball of flame burst from their palms and barrelled towards the mortals. Only to curve around a barrier that the elf threw up just in time.
The human—a large, flammable mantle upon his broad shoulders—moved in front of the elf, his shield raised, amber eyes narrowed. A hollow cavity formed in their chest where memories once resided. He was… inconsequential. But the elf behind him, now she was the real opponent—her force spell sending them staggering.
No, they were incorrect. The man with the shield wouldn’t do. They launched several softer fireballs as a distraction while they considered, watching the way the duo ducked and dodged together… the protectiveness of his stance. Stepping behind debris to use as cover, they channelled their energy as quickly as they could into a fireball, growing larger and larger until it encompassed them. His shield could only protect from so much. There would come a time when he might have to use his own body to shield the elf, if their blast was strong enough.
And strong enough it was. Their flames descended upon the pair, the outline burned into their retinas as they stared openly.
When the dust cleared, only the elf remained mostly conscious. She pushed the human off of her with tenderness that did not belong on a battlefield, and encased his prone form in a protective barrier. She stalked forward, her teeth gritted, hands clenched into—a stonefist sent them flying into an adjacent crumbling wall. They should have expected such an attack; their master would be most disappointed in their failure.
"Ashvalla. I do not want to hurt you!"
Ashvalla… the name she called them… never… never before in that tone. Their flames pushed them to their feet, and they shook off the confusion that clouded their mind. They had to focus. There was no room for any more mistakes. Whether the elf did or did not want to hurt them made no difference. She would burn like kindling now that her shield lounged in the mud. In response, they flung small bursts of fire at her, an attempt to trip.
She dodged the flames, mostly, the ones she didn't, only hitting enchanted robes that minimized magical damage. Frustration came from her in waves, and she ducked behind a column. They watched where those piercing blue eyes had disappeared… hoping they would return. Petal pink lips forming a plea. They couldn't… Wait, Ash. Words unspoken, haunting even now.
A scream left their lips, ragged and torn, an instinct their body possessed. Air squeezed from their lungs, their ribcage creaking and snapping. Energy warbled around them in a crushing grip. Caught in a trap. Their master’s command invaded their mind, pushing them further. More destruction, more power, the world must be remade. Like a weapon aimed and fired, they obeyed.
Their flames shattered the barrier, and they fell to the ground. On their hands and knees, they gasped for breath, each one more painful than the last. Knives between their ribs, their left arm bent at an unnatural angle.
"Ashvalla." The elf stepped out from behind the column, staff raised, but hope stayed her hand. "Love... please look at me."
Ashvalla… Love… they had once been separate, hadn't they? Now… their will was not their own. And it hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt—
Another scream pushed past their teeth as they flung their hand out, a weak ball of flame launched towards the elf… speaking her name. Her spirit’s name. But the mage dodged easily. Their master commanded them to continue, a wordless cry in their mind, and they pushed themselves up on trembling legs. Their shoulders curled inwards, and their flames had dimmed, and everything burned inside them. It needed to stop; they had to make it stop. They readied for another attack, raising their arm and—they clutched their head, their vision going white, their master’s pained cries echoing in their skull. Their flames spluttered out as they unleashed their agony in one long scream.
If she were to perish, so too would her puppet.
Understanding dawned across the elf's face, followed by terror. "Ash!" she cried, breaking into a sprint to cross the ground between them. Ash, the shortening of her name—not theirs—said with such affection and concern that made her heart sing to its tune.
A sob tore from her throat as her master’s control slipped, memories rushing back into the vacuum of power. Her sister’s sly grin and eyes sparkling with mischief. A woman’s breathy sighs and sweet smile as Ash pressed kiss after kiss into her skin like a promise she never intended to keep—a frown marring handsome lips, bisected by a scar.
“Cor,” Ash rasped, arm extended, reaching. Cordelia, her friend, her love. An ache that had driven her near to madness. But her puppeteer was not finished with her yet. Flames beyond her control began to lick at her feet, singeing the skin and climbing ever higher. She groaned, scrabbling for purchase on her mana, but it was smooth as river rock.
Where once their fire scorched with the intent to remake, it became a thing of pure destruction. Nothing but ashes would remain. Flames spread over her skin, Love's or Ash's, it didn't matter. It burned all the same.
The strings commanding her limbs and the noose around her neck were snipped along with the thread of Ghilan’nain’s life. Flames stuttered and dimmed. Like a ragdoll, she sagged, and Cordelia—by the Void, Cordelia—caught her. She shielded Ash with her body, but the worst of the damage had already been done. While Ghilan’nain’s control had slipped, Ash hadn’t been freed from her vindictive nature in time. The scent of burning flesh invading her nostrils, her body screamed in agony. Or perhaps it was Ash who was screaming. She could no longer tell. Writhing only hurt more, but she couldn’t stop her broken body’s attempt to shuck off the pain. The world shook beneath her, and Cordelia curled over her, protective even as Ash wanted nothing more than for the earth to swallow her whole. Consume her and her pain.
But the world did not listen. And Ash suffered.
Ash's scream—and that of the dying Evanuris—reverberated in Cordelia's skull. The acrid smell of burning flesh assaulted her nostrils. Lifting her head, she scanned Ash on instinct; angry, red, blistering skin covered a dangerous amount of her body. Ash twitched and moaned, sounds of pure agony. Cordelia would rather she remain still, but she had only two hands, and her mana would need to be channelled into healing, not magical binding.
Spirits, Ash was so frail... not exactly thin, but she clearly hadn't been fuelled by food in recent months. Her skin sagged in places, pale and sickly. Scars puckered around her chest, remnants of Ghilan’nain if she had to guess. Cordelia waved her hand over Ash, her prickling magic revealing broken ribs and several smaller fractures in other bones, left to heal improperly. That and… metal? Had Ghilan'nain reinforced her bone with metal? Now wasn't the time to dwell on that.
If they weren't mended, the ribs risked puncturing a lung, which would make any healing of the burns futile. Cordelia held her shaking hands over Ash's chest and poured magic into the bones, willing it to cool Ash's shocked, overheating body. The writhing slowed, not quite stopping, but it was a small relief. At least, it was until Ash's heartbeat began to slow as well. Dangerously. Cordelia was a skilled healer; she'd tended to all kinds of injuries. She could fix this. She had to fix this...
A large hand grasped her shoulder. She hadn't heard anyone approach, but her subconscious recognized Cullen, unstartled at the touch. He tensed for a moment, but she didn't have the wherewithal to sort out which part of their situation caused such a reaction.
“Cordelia…” he said gently and trailed off. She couldn't consider what might be going through his mind. She couldn't. Any lapse in her attention could result in… death. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed it down.
"There's antiseptic cream in my pack," she said, gesturing with one hand to the bag still slung on her back. "It—it might help a tiny bit with the pain." After stinging like a bitch. Not that there was enough to spread everywhere that needed it, but better some than none. Cullen hesitated a moment before releasing her shoulder, setting down his sword, and rummaging through her bag.
With the ribs mended tenderly, Cordelia directed her attention to the burns. Not much made her nauseous, but the sight was... the skin was fully burned away in places, leaving the tissue below exposed to the elements, to the Blight. She focused on those areas first, pulling more and more magic from the Fade. They did not come this far just to lose her now.
Cullen poured alcohol over his hands and tentatively began dabbing the salve onto the burns, eyes darting around as though assessing for threats. A brief burst of gratefulness filled her chest. Then Ash cried out again, her breath coming as wheezes and sharp, desperate gasps.
“Cordelia,” he tried again as she continued to pour her remaining mana into Ash. “Even fully rested, her injuries are…” Past Cordelia’s abilities. She knew that. But she couldn't stop. She wouldn't. She ignored his plea.
"Shhh," Cordelia said, her voice trembling. "You're okay, Ash. You're going to be okay." But her mana waned, and Ash still hadn't stabilized enough to move her somewhere more secure. The temptation of more crept into the edges of her vision. There was plenty of blood, a voice that wasn't her own reasoned. Plenty to fuel the healing.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head in dismissal of the demon... likely more than one with how thin the Veil had become, but she was drained, her mind fuzzy, and she couldn't quite tell. Beneath the whispers was the quiet song of lyrium in her pack. Only two vials. Only for emergencies. She glanced at Cullen—not his face, but his hands as he used up the last of the cream. He would forgive her this.
Cordelia fumbled for her bag, latching onto the vial of blue liquid. She popped the cork and gulped it down. Cullen sat back on his heels, hands on his thighs, as he looked anywhere but at her. Her mana surged quickly, and Cordelia gasped in relief. She placed one hand over Ash's heart and kept the other focused on the burns.
Inexplicably, Ash slid her hand up and over Cordelia’s, breathing harder from the exertion. Each panted breath must have been like inhaling needles. She licked her lips, seeking moisture from parched skin, then spoke anyway.
“I’m… sorry, Cor.” Her teeth pierced her bottom lip as searing pain flared. “Please just…” Let me go. Cordelia heard the words Ash couldn't voice, saw the sentiment in her green eyes.
"No. I can't." Not again. I won't let you leave me again. Beneath Cordelia's hand, the warm tendrils of a softer flame flickered to life. Searching, seeking, reaching. Her eyes widened as the faintest of glows spread from Ash's sternum. Love. Cordelia would have begged for help, were the spirit not already attempting to do so already.
Sweat trailed down her back, clung to every place her armour did, and slid over her face. Even with the boost lyrium gave her, she was going to burn herself out if Love couldn't... if...
“Take care of her…” Ash coughed and grimaced as a groan slipped past her clenched teeth. Cordelia looked up at her face in alarm, to find her murky gaze upon Cullen. “Don't forget...” Another wheeze. "She likes it hard, but make it last."
Cullen stammered at Ash's salacious suggestion, incomprehensible with how utterly destroyed she was.
"Ash, stop that," Cordelia ordered. "Talking is not going to help you." Love, help, please. She was glad Ash had remained conscious this long, but doing so wouldn't allow her body to focus on recovery and absorb the healing magic seeping through it. "Cullen, can you get her some water?" Dehydration didn't help either.
Cullen heeded her request, unhooking his waterskin and maneuvering closer to Ash, propping her head up in his lap. She hissed at the movement, but he brought the waterskin to her mouth, coaxing her to part her parched lips. As far as Cordelia could tell, he was doing his best to go slowly, trickling the water into Ash's mouth drop by drop. But when she passed over the crux of the burn on Ash's hip, Ash choked. Water splashed and dribbled out. Cullen sighed, defeated.
Ash's eyelids fluttered, and Love's power pulsed stronger. “You’re good at… looking after people, think you can look after Rae for me?”
Cordelia shook her head firmly. "No. Rae will kill you if you die. And maybe also me, and I would really like to live, so it would be great if you could hang on just a little longer." It struck her suddenly that Rae had not appeared, which was... extremely concerning, but she tried not to let it show on her face... she probably looked haggard enough already that it didn't make a difference.
Ash grunted, her face scrunched with frustration and pain, fear shining in her eyes. She didn’t want to die, and Cordelia wouldn't let her. Love's magic spread further through Ash's body. Cordelia pulled back her own magic slightly, and Ash's condition didn't immediately worsen. That was a good sign, definitely a good sign.
With Love taking over, Ash's pulse steadied, and Cordelia released more of her hold, trusting the spirit to take care of her, as she always had. But in what little Cordelia could see of Ash's eyes, fear shone bright, though slowly growing dimmer as she… She was about to pass out. Shit.
Cordelia retrieved a healing draught from her pack and removed the cork as she leaned over. She could only hope Ash would be able to swallow it. Ash grunted again, her brows furrowed tightly when Cordelia pressed the vial to her lips, but she swallowed.
"You'll be okay," Cordelia murmured, equally an assurance for herself as it was for Ash. "Rest now." Only when gentle hands pulled on her wrists did Cordelia pull them back. She assumed they were Cullen's, but when she looked, he was still cradling Ash's now-unconscious form. Her chest still rose and fell with breath after shallow breath. Right. Okay. Okay, okay. We need to move.
Cordelia did not need to speak for Cullen to understand the urgency held within her gaze as it lifted to meet his. Blight and danger surrounded them, and Ash was particularly vulnerable in her injured state. He removed his mantle—the vest slightly charred from earlier—and draped it over Ash. Shuffling to her side, he slipped one arm beneath her legs and the other beneath her shoulders. Though he himself was injured, he had enough strength to lift her, careful to avoid the worst of her burns.
Retrieving her staff from the ground, Cordelia wiped her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand. She hurried down the slope, trusting Cullen to follow and keep Ash safe. Below, Ghilan'nain's corpse rotted, limp and just as grotesque as she was in life. Rook and her companions stood around, regrouping—save Neve Gallus… and Rae. Her stomach churned. She wanted to ask where Rae had gone; her corpse wasn't on the ground, so where was she? But... spirits, they didn't have time to stop and look for her. Rook could handle it.
The journey back to Arlathan seemed to take twice as long as the journey to the island... and perhaps it was—carrying a woman made it hard to take shortcuts they could have otherwise managed just fine. Though she was exhausted, when they finally passed through the Arlathan eluvian, Cordelia ran up into camp and found a pair of mage healers for help. She wasn't a fool; her magic could do no more for Ash without rest and food. And Ash's wounds needed more than poultices and herbs and tonics to heal. Cordelia wasn't sure of Cullen's injuries, but magic couldn't hurt either, if he allowed it.
He followed her lead in solemn silence. Not that she would've heard him if he'd spoken. She could barely hear herself as she spoke with the other mages, as she told them she needed more magic.
With strength she probably shouldn't have had, Cordelia lifted one of the cots and started over to her and Cullen's tent as the healers gathered—well, she imagined they were gathering everything they would need.
Inside their tent, Cordelia set up the cot near their bed and motioned for Cullen to lay Ash down. He lowered her carefully, jostling her as little as possible. Then he stepped back, and his lips were pursed as though he did, in fact, wish to say something.
"I’ll… fetch some water," he said, glancing at the singular bucket one of the healers brought with them. They would need plenty more. He was intending to say something else, Cordelia was sure, but she didn't have time—or the energy—to dwell on it. With that, he left the tent, focused on his mission.
Cordelia stripped off her armour and unwrapped her hands while the healers set up their supplies, leaving her in her breastband and trousers. Her companions were Dalish too; they were unbothered by her partial nudity... or Ash's full nudity as they pulled the vest away to assess her injuries. She cleaned her hands with soap and water, thankful that one of the others had already heated it.
"I'll tend to the burns while you work," she said as she wet a rag. Equipped with her damp rag, antiseptic salve, and burn cream, she knelt at Ash's left side and started cleaning her leg, where the burns were the worst. The skin... or... lack thereof... was still hot to the touch, but the cool brush of one of the healers' magic seeped in as she worked. The bubbling burns were horrific, but it was the other details she noticed that disturbed her most. The bruising and cuts and the scars she didn't recognize—she'd seen Ash naked enough times to know where there were and weren't scars. She tried not to think about it. Nor the way her bones—the ones not braced by metal—had snapped like kindling. She twitched as the sound echoed in her head.
Focus.
Though she did not look up and see him, Cordelia sensed Cullen's presence. Out of their way, yes, but he remained all the same. Eventually, her awareness of him faded as she focused on her task.
Once the burns were clean, Cordelia worked carefully with one of the healers to remove any dead tissue they could find while the other magically grafted the burns on her face and neck. She applied the burn cream generously across the mottled, swollen flesh as another healer cleaned the lesser scrapes and bruises. When they were all satisfied on that front, Cordelia directed one of the healers to check Cullen, who was reluctant to accept their aid beyond a potion and a brief scan for any injuries that could worsen.
It wasn't until she was applying the bandages that Cordelia's hands began to shake with the force of her exhaustion. The others excused themselves as soon as the bandages were placed, taking their instruments with them for cleaning.
With great, tremulous effort, she rose to her feet and pulled the spare furs over Ash's broken body. She couldn't tell if the absence of Love when she reached out was due to her drained mana or Love actually being gone… she hoped it was the former. Ash's face, though half-covered in bandages, looked… almost peaceful. To Cordelia, it was unsettling, and her stomach churned. On the battlefield, she’d seen plenty of burns, especially in the aftermath of Corypheus’s red lyrium dragon, but this was much more personal. Cordelia's hands had covered every inch of that skin, had lovingly caressed and stroked. Now she tended to Ash in an entirely different way.
Cullen sighed sympathetically behind her and drew closer, placing a hand on her waist. She fought the instinct to sink into him, to let him bear the weight of… everything.
“You’ve done all you can, darling,” he said after a beat, in a low, soft tone meant to comfort. “You need to rest.”
She didn't know how to explain her thoughts... how she was afraid that if she closed her eyes and rested, Ash would waste away or wake in pain or need her dressings changed or disappear as though she'd never been there at all. It was irrational—she knew it was—but that didn't stop her mind from turning over and over.
"I can't," she said, even as she swayed on her feet. "My mind..."
“One moment,” he said and released her. Her knees nearly buckled without him at her back, but she remained upright. For how much longer, she couldn't be certain.
He returned quickly, carrying a second cot—his old one before she refused to let him leave her tent… which had been his first night at the Veil Jumpers' camp. It felt like years since then, but had only been months. Not only because of the whirlwind that was Ash's predicament, but because being with Cullen was as natural as breathing. She could hardly recall what it was like to not be with him. He ushered Cordelia aside and placed the cot at Ash's bedside. She moved without much thought going into her shuffling steps.
After methodically setting up the cot, Cullen took her hand and led her to sit on it. The healers had wisely left a spare bucket of water and a cloth; he took it and knelt in front of her.
“Allow me.” Cullen wet the cloth, holding it up to her face, his eyes wide with a plea. Allow me to take care of you. He'd said those words before. She couldn't recall when…
His tenderness and care would have brought tears to her eyes had she the energy. She dipped her head in the barest of nods, letting him wipe away sweat, tears, and blood of varying origins. Now that she was sitting and inactive, her head began to throb, but she didn't want to take out her hair and have the dirty curls falling around her. Maybe Cullen would think of a solution where she couldn't. She rubbed her temples absently as if that would do anything to relieve the ache.
Cullen passed her a healing potion and stared her down until she drank it, but it only took the edge off. She slid her fingers beneath her crown of braids in an attempt to loosen them a little. The siren song of a warm bath on her weary body called to her, but no, she wouldn't be able to manage it, even if Cullen made a bargain with her.
Her love rose from her side and went to her trunk. She watched him curiously as he rifled around before taking out a bandana and bringing it back to her.
“To keep it from your face,” he explained as he reached over to unpin and unplait her hair. Her eyes stung with no real tears to slip free.
"Thank you," she managed to say. As the braids came loose, Cullen rubbed her scalp, then slid the bandana over her head.
Her attention returned to Ash. Breathing. Alive. As safe as she could be.
Cullen kissed the top of her head and stood again to remove his armour and change efficiently into a clean set of clothes. She scratched at the spots that blood and other fluids had soaked through her remaining clothes and crusted up as they dried, places Cullen hadn't been able to reach. This wouldn't be comfortable to sleep in, but she didn't particularly care.
As if her thoughts summoned him, Cullen appeared in front of her with a set of her sleep clothes. “Do you need help to change?”
She considered his offer for a moment, looking down at herself. Did she need help seemed a little strong, but his touch would be comforting. She nodded and reached behind her, sore muscles straining to undo her breastband. He gently grabbed her wrists and pulled them away before turning her around to undo the band himself. Once again came the urge to cry, and the inability to do so. She swallowed the lump in her throat and fiddled with the ties on her trousers.
The tent was silent as they readied her for bed. No whispers, no song, no words from either of them. She grew dizzier the longer she remained upright, but Cullen would catch her if she fell. Always.
Once she was changed, Cullen sat at the top of the cot, his legs over the side, and pulled her head down into his lap. His fingers stroked down the side of her face. “Rest. I will keep watch. Should anything change, I will wake you.”
Cordelia reached out and took Ash's least injured hand, warm with life... With her head in Cullen's lap and the soothing caresses of his touch, her eyes eventually—finally—drooped closed and she drifted into a dreamless sleep.