Chapter Text
His glare swept past the others, landing squarely on you, and for a brief moment, it felt as though you were the only one left in the world.
“You made me believe we were too harsh on the lot of you.” His voice trembled with anger and fear.
"That you were just innocent people who deserved more. But I was wrong. You are all monsters. I was a fool. A damn fool."
The venom in his voice cut you like a knife. You had not realized how much his words had affected you. His accusations stung. You had been expecting fear, maybe a desperate plea for help, but not this hatred, not this contempt. It was as though every moment you had shared together, every ounce of trust and connection, had been ripped away in an instant, leaving only bitterness behind.
He cut you off, his voice sharp, laced with fury. “I have seen what you are capable of. What you have done! What you did to the Templars!”
The words hit you like a blow to the chest, sharp and biting, echoing in your ears. His eyes were wild, accusing, as though you were a stranger, a threat.
Before you could respond, Wynne’s voice rang out, cutting through the tension. “This is no time for blame,” she said sharply, her tone commanding. "We must work together if we hope to survive this."
The Grey Wardens exchanged uneasy glances, their faces were tight. They shook their heads, clearly frustrated with the growing tension.
"She's right. We don't have time for this," one of them muttered under his breath.
Wynne’s voice broke through the silence “Irving and the other mages trying to stop Uldred? Where are they? Do they still live?”
Cullen’s eyes darkened, his gaze was unfocused as he stared into the distance. "They are locked in the Harrowing Chamber. Uldred is doing things to them, terrible things. Maker, the sounds coming out of there, and the screams..." His voice trailed off.
"We can save them," the Grey Warden interjected.
Cullen scoffed, his face contorting with disbelief. "The only way to stop this is to kill them all. Every single one. It's the only way."
“We can’t do that,” Wynne protested, her voice sharp with a motherly authority. “Irving and the others are trapped and we have a duty to protect them.”
Cullen’s laugh was dry, almost mocking. “It doesn’t matter anymore. None of it. There’s nothing left here but the dead. I will not have their fate be the fate of the world.”
"We can save them. There is still hope. We have a plan!” Interjected the Grey Warden.
“We are not killing innocent people!” you yelled back, your voice cracked with emotion. The words slipped out before you could stop them.
"We can't do that. Irving and the others are trapped and we have a duty to protect them." Wynne protested.
"It doesn't matter anymore. None of it. There's nothing left here but the dead. I will not have their fate be the fate of the world."
“There are no innocent people here. Not anymore,” Cullen spat, his eyes burned with madness.
You shook your head, refusing to accept his words. “How can you say that? Do you hear yourself?”
“Enough!” Wynne commanded. “Y/N, bring Cullen to the Knight Commander. The rest of us will handle this."
You looked at the Grey Warden and her party with a worried expression, your heart was heavy with uncertainty. They turned away, their footsteps echoing in the silent room. A tense stillness settled over the space as they left. The magical barrier dissipated as you walked him outside of the range of its energy. It left a metallic taste in your mouth—the remnants of strong blood magic. He was still weak from the torture, so you helped him lean against the wall.
"Cullen, it's me," you said softly, trying to keep the tremor from your voice. "I am here. You are safe. You are no longer under their influence."
But he pushed you away, his movement unsteady but forceful.
"You can't possibly understand what I have seen. What I have experienced," he said, his voice low and hollow. His gaze never wavered from the distance, as if he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—look at you.
A chill ran through you, deep and cold, settling in your chest. You reached out, desperate to connect, to comfort him, to make him see reason. "I want to help. Please let me." Your voice cracked.
But Cullen quickly pulled his hand away, and his body stiffened. "Stay back. Stay away from me. I mean it." His words were harsh, his voice a sharp command that left no room for argument.
He looked up at you with a coldness that chilled your heart. At that moment, you realized you had lost everything. Your family. Your friends. And now, the last true friend you had. The tears that you had been holding back finally spilled over. You couldn’t keep them inside anymore. Your body shook with the weight of it all, and you collapsed to your knees, your hands pressed to the floor as you wept.
“What did I do? What did I ever do to deserve this?” you sobbed, your voice barely a whisper as the weight of it all crushed down on you. “Please... Maker please. Just let it be over. Please. Cullen. I can't. I can't. I can't.” Your words fell into the silence, raw and desperate, filling the cold, empty hall.
Cullen looked down at you, then shifted his gaze to the door as if searching for an answer in the shadows. The rage and disgust flickered in his eyes, yet behind it, you caught a glimpse of something else—a softness, a trace of the man he used to be. He swallowed, his face conflicted as he looked back at you.
"Why are you doing this? Why do you insist on being here? Haven't I made myself clear?" he asked quietly, his voice breaking through your sobs.
You fought to catch your breath, wiping the tears from your face. “Because you are or were my friend,” you managed, words trembled from within you. “I will not let you die here. We must go, Cullen. We can’t stay in this place.”
For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze slipped to the fallen bodies littering the stone floor. Shadows played across his face from the torchlight in the tower. He grappled with the horror of what had become of the Circle. Then, finally, he nodded, there was a hint of reluctance in his expression.
“Very well.”
You helped him to his feet, supporting his weight as you both began the long, slow descent through the twisted halls of Kinloch Hold. The air was thick with the stench of smoke and magic, and every step you both took echoed painfully against the silent stones. The stench of death clung to the walls of the tower.
When you reached the tower’s entrance, the Knight Commander was already waiting. Behind him, a quiet figure—the Grey Warden, the one who would become the Hero of Ferelden—stood amidst the aftermath of battle. They had slain Uldred and stopped the mages who had corrupted the Circle, leaving only silence and ruin behind. The surviving templars and mages huddled on the ground floor. Kinloch Hold had become a grave, a place that would take years to rebuild if it ever could.
For Cullen, healing would be a much longer road. He was reassigned to Kirkwall, far from the tower and memories that haunted him. The horrors he had seen had scarred him deeply, leaving him changed, haunted, and no longer the young man you had once known. He never sought you out before he left; no parting words, no final goodbye.
That was the last time you saw him for many, many years.