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The Herald took Cassandra first, because she was cruel and knew the best ways to tear him down. It wouldn't have been so bad going to his death if he thought there was a chance Cassandra might survive--but that, too, had been taken from him.
Now, marching out to the scaffold erected in Skyhold's main yard, he could see his friend's head already mounted on its bloody pike, ready to decorate the walls. Her body was being carted away even as he was pushed up the slippery steps.
"Maker take you," Cullen murmured, fisting his hands. He had to swallow back slowly mounting rage as he faced down the Herald, refusing to bow his head and avert his eyes the way everyone else was doing. The courtyard was packed with witnesses--men, women, children. Even the babes were there, crying fitfully at the tension riding high in the air.
"Commander Cullen," the Herald said. Her voice was a cold sing-song. "For the crime of treason, I sentence you to death."
He could fight. He was still strong, and many if not all of the Templars and guards would hesitate to chase him down. There was a good chance he could make it as far as the gate. But what then? Would he begun a hunted man, chased across the face of Thedas? Would he waste his one opportunity to appeal to the Inquisition?
No. He couldn't fight, and he couldn't run. But he could try to make his death count for something.
"You are a false prophet," Cullen said, voice carrying across the field despite the days she'd tried to starve him into breaking. "You've used the Inquisition to conquer territory that is not yours by right, and--" She was already moving, axe lifting, one hand beckoning him forward. Cullen felt himself stumble forward as if pushed, and he fell to a knee, messily sprawling at her feet.
No, no, he needed more time.
"Fight her!" he called, struggling up even as he saw the glint of the axe coming down. "Fight her to your last--"
And then suddenly he was on his hands and knees in the grass, wrists still shackled together, breath coming in harsh, hard pants. The rest of the square was miraculously empty, but the sky when he looked up...the sky roiled in warning.
He wasn't out of this quite yet.
Now, marching out to the scaffold erected in Skyhold's main yard, he could see his friend's head already mounted on its bloody pike, ready to decorate the walls. Her body was being carted away even as he was pushed up the slippery steps.
"Maker take you," Cullen murmured, fisting his hands. He had to swallow back slowly mounting rage as he faced down the Herald, refusing to bow his head and avert his eyes the way everyone else was doing. The courtyard was packed with witnesses--men, women, children. Even the babes were there, crying fitfully at the tension riding high in the air.
"Commander Cullen," the Herald said. Her voice was a cold sing-song. "For the crime of treason, I sentence you to death."
He could fight. He was still strong, and many if not all of the Templars and guards would hesitate to chase him down. There was a good chance he could make it as far as the gate. But what then? Would he begun a hunted man, chased across the face of Thedas? Would he waste his one opportunity to appeal to the Inquisition?
No. He couldn't fight, and he couldn't run. But he could try to make his death count for something.
"You are a false prophet," Cullen said, voice carrying across the field despite the days she'd tried to starve him into breaking. "You've used the Inquisition to conquer territory that is not yours by right, and--" She was already moving, axe lifting, one hand beckoning him forward. Cullen felt himself stumble forward as if pushed, and he fell to a knee, messily sprawling at her feet.
No, no, he needed more time.
"Fight her!" he called, struggling up even as he saw the glint of the axe coming down. "Fight her to your last--"
And then suddenly he was on his hands and knees in the grass, wrists still shackled together, breath coming in harsh, hard pants. The rest of the square was miraculously empty, but the sky when he looked up...the sky roiled in warning.
He wasn't out of this quite yet.
