#i love katla infinitely

[ravenqueen89]

the howling of the wind {patreon}

@vulptilla gave me the awesome privilege of once again getting to write her epic character Katla Hawke. This is set in Inquisition times but the burden of the past remains, as ever.

In summary: Katla goes to Skyhold at Iliana’s request and has a ‘friendly’ catch-up with Cullen. Those two have survived Kirkwall (more or less) but have also been on opposite sides of the conflict for a long, long time, so some things need to be ironed out. Past Katla/Thrask mentions, of course.

Of note: mentions of death, trauma, drinking as coping mechanism, survivor’s guilt. 

(also on ao3)

Skyhold is an imposing sight when Katla emerges from the forest path, but all she can see is its ruin. All she can see are its walls, waiting to close in around her.

Voices up ahead make her pull the hood of her cloak tighter around her face, hiding the famous redness of her hair. She’s been travelling mostly at night, doing her best to avoid the various conflicts along the road but danger looms past every shadow and her every sense is alert with possibility.

The group ahead reveals itself to be a merchant caravan and Katla breathes a sigh of relief and joins them, taking advantage of the anonymity. The merchants are jovial and discreet, asking no questions but offering gossip aplenty. They even share their spiced wine and it makes the freezing climb to the fortress far more bearable than it would have been otherwise. It also calms some of the storm inside Katla, the way her mind is screaming at her to run the other way, to put as much distance between her and another end of the world as possible. She doesn’t want to ever fight for this hellhole ever again, but Iliana asked and Katla can’t just leave her without back-up. Katla has little to give, but she’s here, despite the illusion of comfort the shadows offered her in her wanderings, away from it all. She’s here, despite her constant grief, despite her constant fear. It doesn’t feel like triumph.

Katla slips into Skyhold unnoticed, the merchants attracting all the attention. Night has long since fallen, snowlit and cold, but Skyhold’s courtyard is full of activity and she doesn’t stand out in any way, which suits her fine. She should seek out Varric or Iliana, but there is one stop she must make first, one visit she has been thinking about constantly during the trip. It takes her quite a bit of aimless walking before she asks a nearby scout for directions, but still no one recognises her.

Katla climbs the freshly icy steps to the tower with single-minded focus, not even noticing the way her limbs ache with the cold. Her mind feels clear for once, awake, and she bursts through the door to Cullen’s office, ready for confrontation. All she finds is emptiness and silence, the candlelight and torchlight flickering in the draught she has caused.

There are letters on Cullen’s desk, a quill dripping ink on parchment, indications that where he has gone will not keep him long. Katla walks around the office, finding nothing of notice, and then she sits on the edge of the desk, sending some reports flying. Adding to the general chaos brings her some satisfaction, but she is fidgety and cold and irritated. She wants this meeting over with, wants the ghosts of Kirkwall to grow quiet, wants them to stop reaching for her. Katla doesn’t think this will make them fade, but it can’t hurt to scream at someone other than herself for a change.

She catches the glint of a bottle on the desk, winking at her with promise, buried under things of lesser import. The bottle is stoppered and dusty with no indication of vintage, but Katla does not refuse such gifts like Cullen does. She doesn’t bother to find herself a glass, making quick work of opening the wine and taking a careful sip of it, followed by a mouthful, and another. The wine is heavy and rich on her tongue, like chocolate, like perdition. It tastes like drinking it is a sin, which means it’s definitely from Tevinter. It would have been entirely wasted on Cullen.

The bottle is half-empty by the time Cullen returns, and the way he freezes when he sees Katla would be comical if not for all the memories his face brings. Rage boils over in her veins once more at the unfairness of it. Cullen is here, alive, in front of her, like he has a right to it, like he’s better than the dead, like he’s not just a lucky coward. Her magic howls like the ghosts but Katla breathes, takes another gulp of wine. Neither of them are in Kirkwall anymore. Neither of them are whole.

Cullen hasn’t recovered enough to speak, but he closes the door behind him and gives a wary glance to the bottle in her hand. She smirks at him and keeps on drinking, waiting for him to make a move, waiting to jump right at his throat if he makes a false one. Katla knows he is not an enemy, but she can’t trust him. She needs to establish if Iliana should. That is why she is here. She will not allow Iliana to be torn to shreds by a role others have made for her.

‘I was not told you were here, Champion,’ Cullen finally says, fidgeting, looking from Katla to his chair to the doors of the tower. He’s very much at a loss and Katla feels vindicated by his worry. She could very much be a threat to him and it’s good for him to know it.

‘I did not announce my presence,’ Katla replies, her smile sweet poison. ‘I have something to discuss with you first.’

Cullen nods, his words faltering again, his hand on the pommel of his sword like he’s trying to remind himself he is the commander of the Inquisition. Katla wonders if the ghosts scream at him too.

She drinks some more, staring at him until he starts fidgeting again. ‘You’re doing a piss poor job of protecting Iliana,’ she says, cutting off his protest with a wave of her hand. ’That wasn’t a question, Cullen. I’m here to make sure you put her first. I don’t give a shit about any faction. You put her first, or you will pay.’

Silence stretches in the wake of her words and she fills it up with more wine. Cullen is angry now too, and her own anger rejoices at the sight.

‘You dare question my motives-‘ he starts.

‘I very much dare. Your motives have always failed before,’ she finishes, her hand growing numb from its grip on the bottle.

Cullen walks around her to stand behind his chair, holding on white-knuckled to its back. Katla can see his pallor, the vague tremor in his fingers, the shadows under his eyes. She doesn’t care about the cause. Everyone is responsible for carrying the weight of their own choices.

‘I would give my life for the Inquisition,’ Cullen says with gravitas, like the words matter.

‘I don’t care about your Inquisition. It’s yet another shoddy faction in a long line of shoddy factions. I care about Iliana and if she’s not already your priority, make it so, Cullen. Enough good people have died for the causes in this shithole of a land.’

The dregs of the wine are bitter but she finally feels warm now, words crowding on her tongue, demanding to be spilled into existence. Cullen watches her, his eyes empty for a moment, like he too is haunted. Katla speaks, and she doesn’t know if her voice belongs to her or the ghosts.

‘Do you ever wonder why we’re alive when people infinitely better than either of us are not?’ she says, her tone steady and colder than the night surrounding them. ‘Do you sleep at night without dreaming of their bodies? Are you really willing to risk adding her to that pile?’

With each word, Cullen looks shakier, like he’s about to collapse, blood draining from his face at an alarming rate. Katla knows that expression on his face. She sees it every time she doesn’t manage to avoid her reflection. This mark of Kirkwall, once gained, can never be lost.

‘I don’t,’ Cullen tries to say, his voice barely a whisper. ‘I’m not…’

Katla waves him off, irritation creeping back in alongside the grief. She doesn’t have time for his poor attempts at explaining himself. They both have to bear the suffocating weight of the past. She’s heard it all before.

‘You remember Thrask, don’t you?’ she asks, and the name grabs her by the throat with all the memories attached to it. She hasn’t said his name in years, only allowing herself to remember him in fragments, lest she be swept away by the immensity of the loss.

Judging by the look on his face, Cullen remembers Thrask well enough, so Katla doesn’t wait for a reply. ‘He was a good man. We owed him, Cullen. He deserved to live more than anyone, but we’re the ones standing here. I won’t fail at protecting someone I care about yet again. Are you willing to bear the consequences of that failure?’

Cullen shakes his head, still holding on to the chair like it’s a shield between him and Katla, between him and the memories.

‘We fucked up in Kirkwall, Cullen. You know it, I know it. We failed to avoid predictable disasters. Iliana deserves better.’

Cullen rubs his hands over his face like he’s trying to obliterate whatever images his mind is conjuring in response to Katla’s words. For a moment he barely looks alive in the flickering torchlight, fear written all over him.

‘I loved him,’ Katla says, and it’s not what she meant to speak into existence but it hangs between them regardless. The wine was more potent than she realised, burning secrets out of her. She can see Cullen’s expression morph into pity but the look she gives him melts it away.

‘There were rumours,’ Cullen says, and of course there were, but there was nothing ever concrete enough. She can still feel all the secrecy and all the hiding, meeting Thrask only at night, only in the shadows. As usual in Katla’s life, freedom remained elusive, and now she will never know how freedom with him would have felt.

Katla’s words dry up as quickly as they came. She can still hear the howling of the ghosts, or perhaps the howling of the wind. She can feel the walls of Cullen’s office closing in and she has to remind herself to breathe. Cullen looks at her like he understands, as if he could ever possibly understand, and she wants to snap at him but there’s no point to it.

‘You’re right,’ Cullen finally says, some time later. ‘Iliana will be the priority.’

Katla tips the empty bottle at him in mock salute and moves away from the desk, opening the door to the howling and the cold. Before she disappears into it she turns and says ‘don’t worry, I’ll stick around to remind you if you forget’ and then she is gone, leaving Cullen alone with his own ghosts.