Breaking the Divide - Cullen X Reader

8

Screams echoed through the hallway.

Cullen grabbed a mage as they began to run past. He brought the man close to his face, studying the sheer terror in the mage's brown eyes. He was quivering in Cullen's hold. Blood had been splattered across his cheeks; his hands were scuffed and bruised.

"What happened?!" Cullen demanded.

"It's Uldred. He's—they've gone insane. They're killing everyone! Everyone! They're insane!" He wrested himself from Cullen's grip and continued down the hall at a sprint.

Shifting his shield from his back and onto his left arm, Cullen drew his sword and plunged into the oncoming fray. He shouted directions, places with wards meant to protect those inside, doing what her could to mitigate the growing madness. He paused when he came across a group of children being herded about by Wynne.

"I'll take care of these little ones," she told Cullen before he could speak. "Your attentions are needed elsewhere." She scuttled by, ushering the children forward together like a mother hen.

"Keep going!" he shouted to the rest. "Don't look back no matter what you hear!"

"Cullen!"

"Sam!" Cullen rushed forward as a fellow templar came stumbling around the corner. Blood leaked out between the plates of his armor, staining the stone he crumpled onto. His breathing was harsh and ragged, coming out in short puffs that flecked the floor with fine droplets of blood. Cullen knelt at his side, his hands hovering above the fallen man as his mind raced with a haphazard mess of protocols and rules.

Sam gripped Cullen's arm, fingers tightening enough to make Cullen's bones ache. "Killing everyone," he gasped. "I-if they won't join. Killing. Mad. Wants blood. Prisons. Killing..."

Cullen screamed his name when his head fell limp against the stone, eyes wide and vacant. He gave the man a firm shake. Ice pricked his chest as the screams continued to rise. The prisons. Uldred had been killing the mages locked away in the prisons.

Maker, no.

"Move!" Cullen roared as he surged to his feet. He barreled forward, the fleeing mages parting before his out held sword. He didn't pause, didn't flinch, didn't doubt as he cut through the abominations and demons in his path. His sword flashed when he swung in, his own screams silent in his ears as he hacked his way down to the lowest floor.

The place reeked of death.

It was a bitter scent that clawed its way down his throat, leaving the acrid taste of bile in its wake. The stench overwhelmed him, sending his head spiraling as his eyes swept over the dozen or so corpses in the rooms: templars meant to guard their charges, mages who were bringing food down to the prisoners—steam was still rising off a bowl of stew on the floor—and... and...

"No." Cullen didn't even realize his knees had buckled until he found himself sprawled across the bricks, his sword and shield abandoned at his sides. His legs couldn't carry him. He crawled. He used his arms to drag himself forward, more tempted than ever to retch, as he pulled himself up to one of the bodies.

Scarlet stained pale blue robes. The woman's lips were parted in a scream, brown eyes vacant, skin impossibly pale.

"Please no," Cullen whimpered as he pulled her into his lap. He felt for a pulse, leaned his cheek over her parted her lips in hopes of feeling her breath. Nothing.

"Please, Lara. Please." He tucked her in his arms, burying his face into her neck. Even in death, her hair carried the scent of her jasmine bath oils—a gift sent from her cousin, she'd said. "Please, Lara. Please don't be dead. Please. Please, please, please." He cradled her to him, rocking back and forth as the warmth slowly leeched from her body.