The Enchanter and The Lion

Chapter 28 - The Aftermath - Pt 1

Maeve sucked in a ragged breath and her lungs screamed in agony. "Arrgh," she gasped. Her eyes struggled to open, but there was blood caked along the left side of her face making it difficult. 

She was laying on her back at the bottom of the mine shaft. She tried to roll to her left, but the sharp pain from her arm and side signaled broken bones and she quickly rolled the other way. She sent tendrils of healing magic to her ribs, lungs and arm, but just enough to dull the pain. She didn't have enough mana for even weak attempts at true healing. She groaned as she struggled to her knees. The metallic taste of blood was in her mouth. She clutched the left arm across her abdomen and thought briefly of just giving up and laying back down. 

Find a way back to me, Cullen's voice sounded in her head. 

She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and slowly rose to her feet. She wobbled there for a second and noted something warm and wet oozing from her side. Her right hand came to rest just above the hip and found a large bleeding hole. She sucked in her breath, and since she didn't have enough mana to do anything about it, just pressed her hand there as best she could to staunch the flow. She took a few unsteady steps to lean against the wall and took in her surroundings. Three paths branched from the chamber she was in. She went to each one until she noted the one that had a draft and started down it. 

Find a way back to me, she heard in the back of her mind again. 

I'm trying, Cullen. 

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It had been slow going working their way through the drifts of snow with the wounded, but eventually they had made it to the next valley and set up a temporary camp. Fires still burned in front of most tents, but there were few people around them. Sorrow and fear permeated the air. Cullen watched Leliana's scouts return one by one, none of them with any word on Maeve.

He paced at the edge of the camp. He couldn't sleep and had to do something. Wrapping his cloak around himself he started to head out into the darkness to look for her himself. If there was any chance.... he had to know.

Cassandra was suddenly next to him, "I'm coming with you."

They trudged up the rise together, into the knee-deep drifts of snow, and moved roughly in the direction of Haven. Cassandra kept watch to the right and Cullen to the left. They moved in silence for a while, but he had the feeling the Seeker wanted to say something from all her sideways glances. He was just about to ask her what was bothering her, when a flash of green caught his eye between the trees. He turned to more fully face it, and then Maeve was there, leaning heavily against a tree trunk. 

"There!" he called to Cassandra, "It's her!" 

"Thank the Maker!"

He waded forward and Maeve made to take a step toward him, but she collapsed to her knees as soon as she left the support of the tree. He dropped in front of her, taking in the blood coating the left side of her face from a long gash across her forehead, the awkward angle she was holding her left arm at, and the blood soaking her lower right side. 

"Cu... Cullen..." she whispered through blue lips and chattering teeth. 

He pulled his cloak off and wrapped her in it, "Shhh, don't talk." 

"I...I can't... bre..." she was wheezing and gasping between words. 

He settled her against his chest and lifted her into his arms. She gasped once as her left side settled against him and her head came to rest against his shoulder. "It's alright, Maeve, I've got you," he said as he turned to retrace their steps back to camp. "Just hold on, alright? Stay with me. Please, Maker, stay with me."

It could have been his imagination or the wind, but he swore he heard a whispered 'Always,' come from her lips before she fell unconscious. He held her as tightly as he dared as they returned.

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He rushed through camp to the healer's tent, with Maeve's limp, but still breathing body dangling in his arms. Eyes followed and whispers rippled from behind him. Cassandra had gone ahead to alert the healers, so all he had to do was place her on the waiting cot. 

He stepped back as half a dozen people went to work removing her dented armor and blood-soaked clothing to assess her injuries. Cullen's breath caught in his throat seeing the deep and still bleeding wound just above her right hip and the dark purple bruising extending along her left ribs as they started peeling her tunic back. 

The curve of her breast started to be exposed as the healers continued to undress her and Cullen quickly turned his back, his face flushing crimson. He found Solas walking into the tent to help. 

"What can I do?" he found himself all but begging the elf. 

"You can leave," Solas said bluntly, but gently, as he laid his hand on Cullen's shoulder. 

The elf's eyes were sympathetic as they met his and he nodded. He exited the tent, and was met with half the camp staring expectantly. 

"Cullen?" Cassandra asked. 

He took a deep breath to steady his voice before saying, "The Herald is alive. Pray that she remains that way." He turned and retreated rapidly to his tent. 

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He paced across the ground like a caged animal, trying and failing to calm the tumult that raged inside him. 

She can't die. She can't. Maker, please! he prayed.

He tried every Templar training method for calming he could think of, and still all he could see was her bruised and bleeding body, all he could hear was her gasping, wheezing breaths. Maker knew he had seen people injured and had seen more than his fair share of death. Why was this any different? 

Then, suddenly, it dawned on him - he had never experienced this for someone he truly cared about...someone he loved. 

"Hey Curly?" Varric called from outside the tent. 

"What, Varric?" he ground out between clenched teeth. 

He entered the tent. "Just thought you might like to know, the healers have cleared out and Solas said Sparks is stable. You know...if you wanted to see her."

His pained eyes came to rest on Varric's face. The dwarf smiled softly, "I've heard that people who are unconscious can still hear you. And you look like you need someone to talk to."

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Cullen ducked into the healer's tent a few minutes later. Maeve's prone form lay on the same cot, re-dressed in a clean linen tunic and covered with a cotton blanket. There was a bandage on her forehead and the left side of her face was slightly swollen and mottled with bruises. Her left arm was wrapped in a sling against her chest and she was still so very pale, but her lips were no longer blue. Her chest gently rose and fell, though still with a slight wheeze to her breaths. 

There was a small camp stool next to the cot, so he sat beside her. 

"Maeve," he said softly, "I don't know if you can hear me, but Varric seems to think you might." 

He hesitated before placing his hand gently over hers where it lay at her side. "I... I'm afraid I'm not very good at this," he sighed. "But I guess I just want you to know how much you're needed. How much...I need you." 

He took a shaky breath. "You made it back to me, which was already asking a lot, so I hate to ask more of you, but...you need to keep fighting. For us all...for me." He hung his head and squeezed her hand as the tears rolled down his cheeks.