Why did this prompt make me think of one of the more depressing parts of DA2? Although inspired by my Mari Hawke/Cullen, I’ve generalized this for any female mage Hawke who, by the middle of Act 3, has developed a close friendship with Cullen (if not something more).
.
Cullen sprinted down the path through the dunes on the wounded coast, but he arrived too late. Ser Thrask lay dead.
Without removing helmets from the templars who lay slain in the sand, Cullen already knew their names. He had liked these men despite their foolishness, but their misplaced trust brought them the danger Cullen knew would come.
No one ever listens, and no matter how Cullen warned templars he commanded, they insisted on doing otherwise. If only he had known before their insubordination had gone too far.
Cullen stared down at Thrask’s corpse. The man had been wrong to trust mages put under his watch. Fatally wrong. And now this day of the year would live on in infamy, remembered for the recklessness that resulted in a horrible loss.
If only Cullen had arrived earlier.
He kicked a small stone and watched it skip over the sand, into the base of gnarled thorn bush. Cullen did not wish to speak with Hawke. She openly admired Thrask, and had done so for years, right from the start. More than once Hawke had badgered Cullen to hear Thrask out. “Meet with him outside the Gallows, if you must, but speak with him. He’s a good man. I trust him,” she had said, time and time again.
Cullen glanced over at where Hawke and her companions stood. He wondered what Hawke had known of Thrask’s rebellion. Judging from the disaster that surrounded them, he suspected she knew little more than he. Hawke wouldn’t have allowed this mess to happen. She would have told him. Cullen was certain of it.
From the corner of his vision, Cullen watched Hawke dig the toe of her boot in the sand. She stood twenty paces away, ringed by her companions. Together, they spoke quietly, exchanging words Cullen could not hear from a distance. Carver was with them. Cullen would ask him later what had been said.
Cullen turned toward Paxley and Hugh. “Go back to the boat,” he said. “Get help. We need to bring these bodies back.”
Those who had died that day deserved proper funerals and interred in the Chantry’s crypt. Without their bodies, the Order could not pay compensation to their next of kin. They had made their mistakes but it was Cullen’s duty to see them returned.
As Paxley and Hugh walked away, down to the beach, back to the boat, Cullen sent another stone sailing. It shot out from a cloud of sand kicked up by the side of his boot. He sucked in his breath as he drew himself to his full height. After summoning two more of his men, he began to walk over to where Hawke stood with her companions.
Cullen’s dealings with the witnesses and the survivors went by in a haze. He hid behind his mask of professionalism as his stomach soured, and questioned them more for the sake of procedure than to gain any new information. Hawke was angry. Her companions were bothered. The rest were misguided fools. But Cullen appeased Hawke. He assured her he would go easy on survivors who had involved themselves in this troubling conspiracy.
When nothing more was left to be said, Cullen commanded his three most trustworthy men to escort the few surviving mages to the boat. “Weapons sheathed,” he muttered. “This matter is done.”
He could have followed them, but he did not. Instead, he escorted Hawke and her companions away from the scene of the crime, pointing them back toward the coastal road that would return them to the city.
As they walked over the dunes, Cullen heard the sounds of his men lugging armored bodies back to their boat, behind him. Cullen scrambled up the loose sand as Aveline led the way. Sebastian and Isabela strode behind her. For a moment, Carver hesitated until Cullen quietly ordered him forward. Cullen glanced back. Hawke appears lost. Her vacant eyes stared forward.
“Come on,” he said, waving his hand, motioning her to walk in front of him.
Beyond the summit of the dunes, they walked single file, following a narrow path through the long beach grass until their boots hit hard packed soil. They were at the mouth of the trail that led up the side of a cliff, up to the road. Aveline walked point, taking them up through the switchbacks. Cullen remained as the rear guard, mostly to make sure no one straggled, but also to provide a response if ambushed from behind by raiders who snared them in a trap.
The switchbacks were steep and tight. Cullen looked up the face of the cliff as he stood at one of the turns. Aveline and Sebastian were almost to the top. Once Hawke’s group safely reached the road, Cullen planned to leave them and return to his men. As for Hawke, he would find her later, meeting somewhere they could safely talk. He wanted to ask what she knew about Thrask’s unauthorized dealings with those mages, but all of that could wait until they met someplace private.
He continued up the next switchback and around a boulder. That was when Hawke stopped.
“Go on, keep moving,” he said.
Hawke refused to budge.
“We cannot stop here.”
“Is something wrong?” Aveline called down from above.
Cullen stole a glance backward over his shoulder. Behind him grew a thick thorn bush that clung to the side of the cliff. He peered down and saw no one else below. “All’s clear,” he called out. “Keep moving to the main road.”
“Alright,” Aveline responded. Everyone continued forward, all except for Hawke.
“Hawke!” Cullen barked. Her name came out too harshly. He bit down on the inside of his lip. “Hawke, let’s go.”
She remained motionless as Cullen stepped forward, so close to her that he’d only need to lean his weight forward for his breastplate to touch her back. “Hawke,” he said again, trying hard to hide his exasperation. “Keep moving. We can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”
He might as well have given a command to a statue for all of Hawke’s lack of response. He stole another quick glance down, past the dunes, off to where his templars remained busy, before he dared to press his gloved hand to Hawke’s forearm. “We’re more than halfway up. This is a bad place to stop.” He squeezed her arm. “If you need to, we’ll talk when we reach the top. Let’s go.”
“Knight Captain?” Aveline’s voice called down from far above. “Is something wrong?”
“All’s clear. Move everyone up,” he called back.
Cullen stared to move forward but Hawke remained planted where she stood. What choice did he have? Cullen immediate felt awash in the shame for being an ass, given the circumstances, what else could he do? They were open targets while half way up the cliff. Gripping Hawke’s arm just above her wrist, he twisted it, locking her arm against the center of her back. He clamped his free hand on her opposite shoulder. “Move.” He steered her forward. She took two steps and stumbled, but he hauled her upright before she could fall. Three more steps to the next switchback and around another rock, and then she wrenched herself free and threw her back against the cliff wall. Tears streamed down her face.
In a gesture of concession, Cullen held up his hands, palms forward. “Calm down. We need to move up and join the others.”
For a moment, neither of them took a step, but when Hawke pushed herself away from the cliff wall, Cullen thought she would continue up the trail. Instead, her face crumpled. She burst into a mournful wail and sank to her knees.
No matter what Cullen said to her, not a single word appeared to register. He spoke her name softly, pleaded with her, apologized for taking her by the arm. He begged her to get up and walk with him up the trail. Instead, she fell forward, beating the ground with her open palms, face crimson as she openly sobbed.
It hurt to see someone so distressed, worse when it was a mage.
Cullen’s first reflex was wrong. He knew that. He stifled the instinct drilled into him by the Templar Order. Hawke was merely upset. He had no reason to silence her and drain her. No matter what, she would not hurt him. Of that, he was certain, despite the aftermath he had witnessed below.
If only he had arrived before that disaster began.
Crouched on all fours, Hawke heaved heavy sobs. Calling her name did nothing, and trying to haul her forward surely would not work at all.
To the Void with protocol. If he crouched behind the rock, he could remain out of sight from those he commanded. And, if an ambush occurred, one shout to Brother Sebastian would send down a rain of targeted arrows.
After a deep breath and a final glance over his shoulder, Cullen unbuckled his sword and dropped it to the ground. He worked fast to remove his gauntlets and arm guards. He would have unbuckled his breastplate if he could, but undoing the straps on his back would require Hawke’s help. Instead, he remained armored as he dropped to his knees and pulled Hawke into his arms.
Damn his blasted shell of breastplate for being so unyielding.
He held her tight against his body, despite the armor he wore. Rubbing her back with the palms of his hands, he whispered her name, waiting for the tension inside her to yield.
No other words came to him, nothing at all that could make any of this better. How had he gone so terribly wrong in overseeing the doings of his men?
He did all he could to comfort her as her weight fell awkwardly on his lap. Maker damn the armored faulds still buckled and cinched to his hips. And the Blight could take his breastplate and pauldrons. The only thought on his mind was how wrong it was for heavy steel to cut between him and Hawke as he cradled her to his chest.
What could he possibly say to her? Nothing. So he kissed her. Kissed each of the tears staining the sides of her face. There was no other action he could do, nothing at all he could say. Why had the power of language been reduced to sheer inadequacy?
Nothing could be said that would easy Hawke’s sadness. He kissed the ridge of her cheekbone, tasting the salt and dust and anguish she wore as her sorrow spilled from her like blood flowing from a wound.
Re: f!Hawke/Cullen - Nothing I Can Say
.
Cullen sprinted down the path through the dunes on the wounded coast, but he arrived too late. Ser Thrask lay dead.
Without removing helmets from the templars who lay slain in the sand, Cullen already knew their names. He had liked these men despite their foolishness, but their misplaced trust brought them the danger Cullen knew would come.
No one ever listens, and no matter how Cullen warned templars he commanded, they insisted on doing otherwise. If only he had known before their insubordination had gone too far.
Cullen stared down at Thrask’s corpse. The man had been wrong to trust mages put under his watch. Fatally wrong. And now this day of the year would live on in infamy, remembered for the recklessness that resulted in a horrible loss.
If only Cullen had arrived earlier.
He kicked a small stone and watched it skip over the sand, into the base of gnarled thorn bush. Cullen did not wish to speak with Hawke. She openly admired Thrask, and had done so for years, right from the start. More than once Hawke had badgered Cullen to hear Thrask out. “Meet with him outside the Gallows, if you must, but speak with him. He’s a good man. I trust him,” she had said, time and time again.
Cullen glanced over at where Hawke and her companions stood. He wondered what Hawke had known of Thrask’s rebellion. Judging from the disaster that surrounded them, he suspected she knew little more than he. Hawke wouldn’t have allowed this mess to happen. She would have told him. Cullen was certain of it.
From the corner of his vision, Cullen watched Hawke dig the toe of her boot in the sand. She stood twenty paces away, ringed by her companions. Together, they spoke quietly, exchanging words Cullen could not hear from a distance. Carver was with them. Cullen would ask him later what had been said.
Cullen turned toward Paxley and Hugh. “Go back to the boat,” he said. “Get help. We need to bring these bodies back.”
Those who had died that day deserved proper funerals and interred in the Chantry’s crypt. Without their bodies, the Order could not pay compensation to their next of kin. They had made their mistakes but it was Cullen’s duty to see them returned.
As Paxley and Hugh walked away, down to the beach, back to the boat, Cullen sent another stone sailing. It shot out from a cloud of sand kicked up by the side of his boot. He sucked in his breath as he drew himself to his full height. After summoning two more of his men, he began to walk over to where Hawke stood with her companions.
Cullen’s dealings with the witnesses and the survivors went by in a haze. He hid behind his mask of professionalism as his stomach soured, and questioned them more for the sake of procedure than to gain any new information. Hawke was angry. Her companions were bothered. The rest were misguided fools. But Cullen appeased Hawke. He assured her he would go easy on survivors who had involved themselves in this troubling conspiracy.
When nothing more was left to be said, Cullen commanded his three most trustworthy men to escort the few surviving mages to the boat. “Weapons sheathed,” he muttered. “This matter is done.”
He could have followed them, but he did not. Instead, he escorted Hawke and her companions away from the scene of the crime, pointing them back toward the coastal road that would return them to the city.
As they walked over the dunes, Cullen heard the sounds of his men lugging armored bodies back to their boat, behind him. Cullen scrambled up the loose sand as Aveline led the way. Sebastian and Isabela strode behind her. For a moment, Carver hesitated until Cullen quietly ordered him forward. Cullen glanced back. Hawke appears lost. Her vacant eyes stared forward.
“Come on,” he said, waving his hand, motioning her to walk in front of him.
Beyond the summit of the dunes, they walked single file, following a narrow path through the long beach grass until their boots hit hard packed soil. They were at the mouth of the trail that led up the side of a cliff, up to the road. Aveline walked point, taking them up through the switchbacks. Cullen remained as the rear guard, mostly to make sure no one straggled, but also to provide a response if ambushed from behind by raiders who snared them in a trap.
The switchbacks were steep and tight. Cullen looked up the face of the cliff as he stood at one of the turns. Aveline and Sebastian were almost to the top. Once Hawke’s group safely reached the road, Cullen planned to leave them and return to his men. As for Hawke, he would find her later, meeting somewhere they could safely talk. He wanted to ask what she knew about Thrask’s unauthorized dealings with those mages, but all of that could wait until they met someplace private.
He continued up the next switchback and around a boulder. That was when Hawke stopped.
“Go on, keep moving,” he said.
Hawke refused to budge.
“We cannot stop here.”
“Is something wrong?” Aveline called down from above.
Cullen stole a glance backward over his shoulder. Behind him grew a thick thorn bush that clung to the side of the cliff. He peered down and saw no one else below. “All’s clear,” he called out. “Keep moving to the main road.”
“Alright,” Aveline responded. Everyone continued forward, all except for Hawke.
“Hawke!” Cullen barked. Her name came out too harshly. He bit down on the inside of his lip. “Hawke, let’s go.”
She remained motionless as Cullen stepped forward, so close to her that he’d only need to lean his weight forward for his breastplate to touch her back. “Hawke,” he said again, trying hard to hide his exasperation. “Keep moving. We can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”
He might as well have given a command to a statue for all of Hawke’s lack of response. He stole another quick glance down, past the dunes, off to where his templars remained busy, before he dared to press his gloved hand to Hawke’s forearm. “We’re more than halfway up. This is a bad place to stop.” He squeezed her arm. “If you need to, we’ll talk when we reach the top. Let’s go.”
“Knight Captain?” Aveline’s voice called down from far above. “Is something wrong?”
“All’s clear. Move everyone up,” he called back.
Cullen stared to move forward but Hawke remained planted where she stood. What choice did he have? Cullen immediate felt awash in the shame for being an ass, given the circumstances, what else could he do? They were open targets while half way up the cliff. Gripping Hawke’s arm just above her wrist, he twisted it, locking her arm against the center of her back. He clamped his free hand on her opposite shoulder. “Move.” He steered her forward. She took two steps and stumbled, but he hauled her upright before she could fall. Three more steps to the next switchback and around another rock, and then she wrenched herself free and threw her back against the cliff wall. Tears streamed down her face.
In a gesture of concession, Cullen held up his hands, palms forward. “Calm down. We need to move up and join the others.”
For a moment, neither of them took a step, but when Hawke pushed herself away from the cliff wall, Cullen thought she would continue up the trail. Instead, her face crumpled. She burst into a mournful wail and sank to her knees.
No matter what Cullen said to her, not a single word appeared to register. He spoke her name softly, pleaded with her, apologized for taking her by the arm. He begged her to get up and walk with him up the trail. Instead, she fell forward, beating the ground with her open palms, face crimson as she openly sobbed.
It hurt to see someone so distressed, worse when it was a mage.
Cullen’s first reflex was wrong. He knew that. He stifled the instinct drilled into him by the Templar Order. Hawke was merely upset. He had no reason to silence her and drain her. No matter what, she would not hurt him. Of that, he was certain, despite the aftermath he had witnessed below.
If only he had arrived before that disaster began.
Crouched on all fours, Hawke heaved heavy sobs. Calling her name did nothing, and trying to haul her forward surely would not work at all.
To the Void with protocol. If he crouched behind the rock, he could remain out of sight from those he commanded. And, if an ambush occurred, one shout to Brother Sebastian would send down a rain of targeted arrows.
After a deep breath and a final glance over his shoulder, Cullen unbuckled his sword and dropped it to the ground. He worked fast to remove his gauntlets and arm guards. He would have unbuckled his breastplate if he could, but undoing the straps on his back would require Hawke’s help. Instead, he remained armored as he dropped to his knees and pulled Hawke into his arms.
Damn his blasted shell of breastplate for being so unyielding.
He held her tight against his body, despite the armor he wore. Rubbing her back with the palms of his hands, he whispered her name, waiting for the tension inside her to yield.
No other words came to him, nothing at all that could make any of this better. How had he gone so terribly wrong in overseeing the doings of his men?
He did all he could to comfort her as her weight fell awkwardly on his lap. Maker damn the armored faulds still buckled and cinched to his hips. And the Blight could take his breastplate and pauldrons. The only thought on his mind was how wrong it was for heavy steel to cut between him and Hawke as he cradled her to his chest.
What could he possibly say to her? Nothing. So he kissed her. Kissed each of the tears staining the sides of her face. There was no other action he could do, nothing at all he could say. Why had the power of language been reduced to sheer inadequacy?
Nothing could be said that would easy Hawke’s sadness. He kissed the ridge of her cheekbone, tasting the salt and dust and anguish she wore as her sorrow spilled from her like blood flowing from a wound.