Dragon Age Inquisition: Faith

The Fade

Cullen and his soldiers were sweeping the battlements of the fortress when Clarel's magic struck the dragon—and shattered the bridge holding Cecily's small team.

It felt as if time slowed as he watched it happen. The bridge collapsed; the Inquisitor fell. He found himself running—not in time to prevent her fall, but just in time to reach the edge of the crumbling bridge, to see the flash of green enveloping her and the others before they hit the ground.

"No!"

For a moment Cullen thought he had voiced his horror aloud. But it had been Fenris, who had been just far enough from the bridge to miss falling with the Inquisitor.

"Hawke!" the elf screamed, falling to his knees and staring at the ground below, his eyes wide and desperate.

Varric ran to his side. "Shit! What happened?"

Fenris opened his hands helplessly. "I ... they fell, and they vanished."

"The Inquisitor opened a rift," Cullen said, his voice flat. He felt numb.

"A rift to the Fade?" Fenris's eyes turned cold. "Hawke's in the Fade? In the flesh?" His hands tightened to fists, and the tattoos on his arms began to flare with blue light. Cullen tried not to stare.

Varric grimaced. "Okay, that's ... not great," he admitted. "But Hawke's come out of the Fade before." Cullen had to give the dwarf credit; he sounded almost optimistic. "And you wouldn't believe the shit that the Inquisitor has escaped. She dropped a damned mountain on her own head and walked out with barely a hair out of place."

That wasn't how Cullen remembered Haven, to put it mildly, but he decided not to correct Varric. He crossed his arms and turned from the bridge, redirecting his attention to his soldiers. There was nothing he could do for the Inquisitor now except make sure the battle was finished when she returned.

If she returned.

How many more times could Cecily escape seemingly certain death?

One more. Please, Maker. Grant her at least one more.

 ******************************************* 

“If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. This is nothing like the Maker’s bosom,” Hawke said. Cecily had to tilt her head up to find the source of her voice—the Champion appeared to be hanging from the ceiling.

“It’s not the afterlife. We’re in the Fade,” replied Solas, looking around, his eyes wide with wonder.

"The Fade." Stroud's voice was so stoic that Cecily couldn't tell if he was frightened, annoyed, or bored. The fact that he was standing on a wall to her left didn’t help, either.

"I had never thought to be here in the flesh,” Solas said. “Inquisitor, this is extraordinary! Look, the Black City, almost close enough to touch."

"You're enjoying this?" Blackwall asked, clearly appalled.

"I must agree. I fail to see why this is an encouraging development," Stroud ground out, looking around the green-and-gray landscape with extreme distaste.

Annoyed, then.

Cecily couldn't blame Blackwall or Stroud. Half of her was fascinated; the other half, terrified. I got them all here. Can I get them back out?

"At least we're not splattered on the rocks below Adamant," Hawke pointed out, stepping carefully down to the same ground where Cecily was standing. "I'm not inclined to be picky about how it happened. My thanks, Inquisitor."