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To say that Skyhold was in ruins was to say the mark on her
hand was a scratch.
Kaitlyn limped up the staircase, leaning heavily on
Cassandra’s offered arm. They moved slow—each step its own aching challenge.
The illusion that she’d somehow managed to heal over their two days of travel
was an important one to maintain for the people gathering in the courtyard
below. The Herald of Andraste, now official leader of the Inquisition, had to
be more.
Keep your back
straight, my dear, Vivienne’s voice rang in her head. Kaitlyn stifled a
groan as she tried to make her movements appear as natural as possible.
When she’d accepted the role of Inquisitor earlier in front
of the advisers, Cullen had stared at her as though she’d declared that
everyone must return to the old ways of worshipping Dumat. “Why do such a thing?”
Kaitlyn faltered on the final step, her hand flying up to
her side. Pain shot throughout her body like lightning and her breath came in
sharp pants. The world grew unsteady. Cassandra’s hands tightened on her arm.
“Can you make it?” Cassandra asked under her breath.
“Give me a moment.”
Why do such a thing?
Kaitlyn ground her teeth together as she forced her body to
move forward and accept the sword Leliana offered. A whimper escaped her as she
took the full weight of the weapon. A second whimper followed as Cassandra
moved away. Hefting the sword and testing her grip, she looked down at Cullen,
barely able to make out the words he said as he roused the crowd. She inspected
the length of the blade, noting the worn edges time had given it.
Why do such a thing?
To stop Corypheus. To protect the soldiers and civilians
she’d come to know. To show Thedas that mages didn’t have to be feared—that
mages were people before they were anything else which meant as good and as
flawed as any other.
Kaitlyn shifted her grip, waiting for Cullen to finish
before thrusting the sword into the air. She gave of a shriek of pain but
deepened it instantly in the hopes that the others would take it as a war cry.
Sweat dripped down the back of her neck. A faint buzzing grew in her ears.
Cassandra’s voice was distant as firm hands took the sword and guided her up
towards the main hall of the keep. Kaitlyn’s arm was oddly light without the
weapon.
“I think that went rather well,” Leliana said as Cassandra
helped Kaitlyn into a chair.
Cullen stopped in front of her, his hand coming to brush
against hers. “You did well, Inquisitor.”
She glanced up to see him smiling. The bags under his eyes
resembled bruises, but despite the weariness in his expression, there was a
sense of relief in the way the corners of his mouth lifted up.
“Thank you,” she managed before easing down with a sighed
groan. “I’m glad Solas knew about this place, but I don’t think it’ll hold an
army.”
“We’ve already started gathering our forces in the valley
below,” Josephine said. Her voice carried on but the words didn’t register as
Kaitlyn’s side continued to ache and throb. She tried to relax and nod in all
the right places as the facts about their forces and connections piled up.
Winter Palace. Adamant. Wardens. Corypheus. Yes, yes. I’ll get it done. I’m
fine. Yes, I’m listening. Dark future. Samson. Corypheus. Red lyrium. Yes, I’ll
remember.
Kaitlyn blinked when it was suddenly Varric who was staring
at her.
“You finally here with me, Sweets?”
“I—” She sat up straighter in her chair and looked around.
“Where are the others?”
“Gone. You’ve been in a daze for quite a while now. I wager
you wouldn’t have noticed if Andraste herself had walked naked through the
room.”
She shot him a mild glare and he chuckled. “Is there
something I can help you with, Varric?”
He waved a hand. “It’s what I can do that I came to discuss. There’s, uh, there’s someone that
I’ve contacted—someone who can help us with Corypheus.”
“Oh?”
He stared at her, eyebrows raised as though he expected her
to already know the answer. “You weren’t listening at all when I read The Tale of the Champion, were you?”
“Um… well, it all got sort of fuzzy after the ogre and the
dragon lady.” She flushed when he pursed his lips. “I’ve already restarted
reading it from the beginning; Hawke’s helping Fenris chase after Danarius but
he wasn’t in the mansion.”
“You have a ways to go then. It’s just as well. They won’t
be here for a few more days.” He turned as if to leave, paused, then looked at
her. “Sweets. There’s, uh—” He shook his head and brought a hand up to his
furrowing brow. “There’s going to be some stuff in that book that’s,
well—things were so different back in Kirkwall. It’s hard to describe if you’ve
never been there for yourself. A sort of weight; a constant nagging at the back
of your neck and—”
Kaitlyn placed a hand on his shoulder and he fell silent. “I
consider you a friend, Varric. Whatever I read won’t change that.”
He gave her a wry smile. “It’s not me I’m thinking about, Sweets.” He shook his head again before
patting her hand. “You’ll see soon enough, I suppose.”
Kaitlyn started to ask what he meant but he was already
walking away, muttering something about a promise over his shoulder. She tried
to follow but her ribs allowed her a mere three steps before locking her in
place. She wheezed and half-staggered-half-fell towards the door. Pushing magic
into her right hand, she pressed it up against her side, shuddering as her own
magic flooded through her body, knitting the bones, healing the bruises. She
was panting by the time she pulled her hand away.
A step forward and her knees shook. She looked down at the
sheer drop a few inches from her toes. She wobbled as she did so, her head
going light.
“Inquisitor!”
She recognized Cullen’s voice long before his arm wrapped
around her and pulled her away. He all but carried her back inside the hall,
his arms steady around her. She leaned against his mantle, going boneless
against him.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured as he continued to escort-carry
her into the kitchens. “Head hasn’t stopped spinning since this morning. Not
very Inquisitor-y of me, is it.”
With no chairs to sit in, Cullen set her down on a cleared
section of the counter. She almost pouted when he stepped away, missing the
warmth of the mantle.
“It’s because you’re pushing yourself too hand.” He fetched
a glass of water and watched as she drank it before pressing a second into her
hands. Their fingers brushed together and he lingered there a moment. She was about
a hand’s with shorter than him on her feet but being on the counter made them
level. Cullen stepped closer. His scruff was thicker than usual, edging into a
beard. His eyes had darkened to a deep gold, unable to stay focused on one spot
as they kept shifting down towards her lips. She licked them automatically. He
took another step.
Maker, but his hand was warm. Her skin prickled under the
touch and her stomach fluttered when he settled mere inches from her. He
smelled of elderflower and oakmoss and hot metal.
“You need to take better care of yourself,” he said. “You
push too hard for the sake of others.”
Kaitlyn flushed at how his deepened voice sent a shiver up
her spine, at how his fingers continued to rest softly on her skin. “I could
say the same thing about you, Commander. But there’s no need to worry about me.
I’ll be all right.”
He smiled at that. “I’ll always
worry about you.”
She looked away and pressed the glass to her lips, hoping to
hide her grin. She cleared her throat when the cup was drained, certain her
cheeks were as scarlet as the fur of his mantle.
“I understand that Leliana’s prepared a room for you downstairs
near the library while the workers finish restoring the eastern wing. Your
things should already be there.” His hand fell away but he stayed there, close
enough that she could see the faintest trace of freckles on his nose. “I highly recommend you shirk all
responsibilities until after you’ve had some sleep.”
“How scandalous!” She gave an exaggerated gasp. “My war
advisor telling me to do nothing?”
Cullen rolled his eyes at that and took the empty glass from
her hands. “Recovering from your injuries is hardly doing nothing.” He filled
it with water again and placed it down at her side. “Please promise me that you’ll
at least try to take it easy.”
“… I promise.”
He smiled and her stomach fluttered.
“There’s, uh—” He broke away suddenly, retreating a few
paces. “There is something that I
need to discuss with you once you’re feeling better. Now that you’re officially
the Inquisitor, there are a few things that you need to know. About me.”
“Oh?” She slid off the counter, barely able to keep herself
from following him as he continued to move away.
“It’s nothing of great importance, but I think you should be
aware of… certain things.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I simply—” He let out a breath and
shook his head. “It would be best to save this discussion until you’re well
again, I think. I’m located in the tower above the portcullis if you need me. Until
then, Inquisitor.” He gave a stiff bow and before she could call him back, he
was gone.
Kaitlyn stood there, blinking at where he’d been standing
only seconds before. “All right then,” she muttered to herself. She rifled
through the cupboards, taking a mere half of the cookies she’d found. Using her
shirt to carry the haphazard bundle, she tiptoed her way through the great hall,
her head down and hair brushed over her face to keep as invisible as possible.
She only had to stop twice to catch her breath as she made her way downstairs.
It took a few wrong guesses and a set of flustered half-naked women, but she
found the room intended for her. Tale of
the Champions was already set on the small table beside the bed.
When the door shut with a muffled clank and the latch slid
over, she stopped to rest her forehead against the wood. Her room. Her own
room. She laughed when her eyes began to prick. She had almost believed that
she’d never get to experience such a luxury. What did people even do when they
had a room all their own? Strip down? Dance naked? Sing horrendously off-key?
Perhaps all three at the same time?
She laughed at the mental image. Perhaps after her ribs stopped pounding with
pain.
Setting down on the bed with the cookies in her lap and
extra candles set out to burn, she pulled out Varric’s book and began to read.
Kaitlyn gripped the book until the color drained from her
fingers. Frost spread across the ornate cover until the Champion’s Tale was
little more than a brick of ice. Anger seeped into her bones and burned through
her veins until her entire being ached to scream and tear.
Mages cannot be
treated like people. They are not like you and me. They are weapons.
Templars have
dominance over mages by divine right.
Mages cannot be our
friends. They must always be watched.
I’ll always worry
about you.
Of course the bastard would worry. After all, she might turn
into a monster at any given moment and he’d have to be there to protect the
innocent nobility from the evil mage. With a growl, she let go of the book, not
wanting to do any more damage to Varric’s gift.
“The nerve of him!” She got on her feet, her pain barely
making her twinge as she stormed about the room, the candles flickering
whenever she passed. “We have to get the templars! We have to get the templars!
Urgh! And to think that he—that I—”
She let out another scream of frustration.
Mage. Monster. You deserve to be locked up. You
deserve to be punished for what you are.
She slammed her hand against
the latch of the door. The metal let out a low groan before it shattered under
her touch, falling to the ground in chunks. She took a deep breath, trying to
control the rage as it spread through her, consuming her from the inside.
This man who hated mages, who
had watched them be tormented but had done nothing, who believed that they were
not even human, who ‘understood’ the desire to make all mages Tranquil—this man was supposed to be her
Commander? Someone she was supposed to trust and rely on?
Kaitlyn stormed up the stairs,
taking them two at a time. Night had settled in while she’d read, leaving only
a handful of guards in her path. None approached her.
“Varric!”
The dwarf started in his chair
where he’d been writing. His fingers were blotted with black ink and he had
spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. He took them off as she grew closer
and tucked them away in one of his pockets.
“I take it you’ve finished the
book?”
Kaitlyn pounded a fist onto the
table—harder than she’d intended—and the wood cracked down the center. She
sighed, stowing her apology to Josephine away for later. Varric settled down
into his chair, his face devoid of his emotion, eyes studying her warily when
she turned on him.
“I did finish it,” she snarled
through her teeth. She forced herself back a step. Her anger was not at him.
Nor was the sense of loss that was creeping along behind it. Cullen had almost…
she couldn’t believe she’d fallen for his ploy. The trustworthy templar who
believed in protecting mages. She should’ve known better. “And I need to know exactly what happened in Kirkwall with
the Commander.”
“Why?”
She frowned at how calm he
remained, as though she had asked whether or not it would rain tomorrow. “Because
if I’m going to discuss—” She
emphasized the word mostly for herself. It would do no good for the Inquisitor
to kill her Commander on the same day that she’d been placed into power. “—things
with him then I should know the truth first.”
“And whose truth do you want?”
Varric tilted his head to the side, expression unchanged. “If you’re asking if
he really said those things, then yes, he said them. He said a lot more than
that too—some worse, some a lot better. But you need to understand that I first
met Curly years ago. He said those things, yes, but he’s not that same person
anymore.”
“You’re actually defending
him?”
He reached out to touch her shoulder
but withdrew it when she pulled away. “You said that you wanted to know the
truth. That’s the truth. But it’s him that
you need to be asking.”
Kaitlyn scoffed and headed to
the rotunda. She grumbled under her breath when Varric shouted You’re welcome! over her shoulder.
“Not the same person, ha!” She clenched and unclenched her hands,
barely even noting Solas as he slept.
Mages are not people. They are
weapons. Mages cannot be our friends.
Grief mixed in with the rage
as she marched across the battlements to his tower. She’d been such a fool.
Kaitlyn clutched at her chest as the ache grew stronger. She’d been so
desperate for a friend, for something familiar that she’d let herself get close
to someone who wouldn’t even bat an eye if she were to be made tranquil—made manageable. Maker’s breath, he’d
probably prefer her that way. Unable
to say no to the advisers decisions, falling in line behind them, focused
entirely on Corypheus.
Kaitlyn raised her hand,
settled to knock on Cullen’s door in place of outright demolishing it as she
wanted to. Her fist stopped just short of its destination as a long, low moan
echoed from within the tower.
Waves of embarrassment crashed
over on her, overwhelming her anger. She paused, wondering if it had been a
trick of the ear, or perhaps a creak from one of the other doors. With her ears
pricked up, she waited. Another, louder, moan followed that trailed off into a
faint whimper.
She glanced around, unsure of
what to do. Bursting in and demanding to speak to Cullen while he was in the
middle of someone, all sweaty and scrunch-faced, was not how she wanted the
evening to go. A note, then? But what would she right? I found out you’re a bastard. Report to me – Your Inquisitor. Yes.
And that wouldn’t circulate so everyone knew about it. That would only earn her
pitiful glances and raised eyebrows. He’s
a templar; what had you expected? You accepted him as a Commander without even
knowing that?
Kaitlyn groaned and ran her
hand over her face instead. She turned to leave. The tips of her ears turned
red when yet another cry came from Cullen.
“Please—”
She flushed and shook her head
as though that would block out her ears.
“Please stop!”
She paused mid-step then eased
backwards and pressed her ear to the door. Just to check up on him, of course.
She wasn’t peeping. Or spying. Not at all.
“Please,” Cullen’s voice
choked on the word. “Please don’t. Stop. P-please. Stop. I know you’re not—you’re
not her. No!”
Kaitlyn’s fingers went to the
latch. She hesitated. Her anger urged her to walk away, to let him suffer
through the nightmare alone. He deserved far more for what he’d done.
“Damnit,” she muttered before
pushing the door open. “Cullen? Are you there?”
“Please,” he begged. “Please
end this. Just end it, please. I can’t—I can’t.”
She crawled up the ladder as
fast as she could, her previous pains clinging to her bones as she made her way
up to him.
His blankets were thrown
across the floor, the sheets beneath him soaked through with sweat. He shifted
and muttered, his head thrown from side to side as he whimpered and pleaded. He
wore only a loose pair of trousers that barely held to his hips and his hair
had reclaimed their curls.
She gawked at him.
A set of five scars, thick and
gnarled, had been clawed into his chest above his heart. His right side bore a
patch of pink and twisted skin where he’d been burned years before. The hair on
his upper body that trailed down to the edge of his trousers was uneven,
interrupted by the network of scars he bore from years of being a templar.
Mages had done this to him.
Kaitlyn pursed her lips,
refusing to let sympathy enter the moment. She came forward and pressed a hand
to his forehead. His skin burned beneath her fingers. One of his hands shot up
to wrap around her wrist but he did not wake. The hold was as weak as his
voice, feverish and desperate.
“Please stop.”
“Cullen? She used her other
hand to shake him.
He didn’t stir.
“Cullen!” She pried his hand
from her when he continued to tremble and gathered the washbasin and pitcher nearby.
Pouring out the water into the washbasin, she placed her hand on the surface and
let her magic flow through the water. With no rags or spare cloths in the small
room, she took one of his blankets and ripped off a corner, then a few more
strips just to be sure. A subtle sense of satisfaction curved her lips into a
smile as she dropped the ripped blanket back onto the floor.
“Don’t think this changes matters, templar,” she muttered as
she sat down on the edge of his bed. “We’re still going to talk about Kirkwall
later.” Soaking a cloth, she wrung it out and pressed it to his forehead before
eating a touch of healing magic into the strip. “You have to get well again so
I can yell at you. And that is a
direct order.”
Cullen’s body began to calm to the occasional jerk of his arm
or leg. His cries for help quieted to strangled whimpers. She stayed there,
placing another chilled strip across his chest, another down his stomach, the fourth
and fifth loosely tied around his wrists.
“You have to get well,” she mumbled again as her head began
to droop forward. She moved closer, smoothing back his dampened curls. Tilting
his neck up, she slipped water into his mouth bit by bit, making sure that he
swallowed each time before resting his head in her lap. Another change of
cloths. Her eyes itched with the desire to sleep. Another change. She yawned.
Grey came in through the hole in the ceiling. More sips of water. “You… have to…
get well…”
Cullen’s eyes felt like sandy cotton balls when he blinked
them open. The light filtering into the room made him groan. He raised a hand
to block it out and blinked when a wet cloth slid off his wrist and smacked him
across the face.
“What in the Maker’s name?” He pulled it off with an
irritated growled and stopped short. Kaitlyn was rested back against the
headboard in a position that must’ve been excruciatingly uncomfortable. Her
full lips were parted. Her chest rose and fell in time with her slow breathing.
He flushed as he realized that his head rested in her lap. A mere turn of his
neck and their position would become an intimate one.
He froze in place, hardly daring to breathe as his eyes
roamed around the room. He remembered feeling ill the night before. Lara in
Kinloch Hold. The demon who stole her face as it whispered lies into his ear. A
shudder ran through him that he couldn’t suppress.
Kaitlyn stirred. A hand came up to rub her face.
Cullen clamped his eyes shut, arms shooting down to his
sides as he thought invisible sleepy thoughts.
She peeled the cloth from his forehead and felt the skin
with her hand. His heart skipped then clenched when her fingers shifted down to
his neck, her every touch gentle. Maker,
but she had soft hands. Soft and blessedly cool. He let his mind drift for a
moment, let himself imagine her fingers wrapping around his neck for a
different reason. Her nails scraping through his scalp. Her breath on his lips.
The warm brush of her tongue against his own. The light sigh of his name when
he kissed her.
She was so close to him now. It would be a simple thing to
reach out and touch her face. She’d stayed with him, after all. She’d seen him
in his broken state and had stayed the night, had nursed him. Maybe… maybe if
he brought her close and cupped her cheek as he wanted, he’d find that she
desired the intimacy as much as he did.
Cullen cracked an eye open when she lifted his head out of
her lap and shuffled to the edge of his bed. He stayed there, debating, when a
sharp shriek left her followed by a heavy thud.
“Kaitlyn!” He was up in an instant, his limbs cracking as he
stumbled to his feet.
She stared at him with panicked wide eyes. Her head whipped
to the ladder and she started to crawl forward on her elbows for her escape.
He stepped towards her. “K—Inquisitor, wait.”
“Don’t touch me!” she screamed.
Cullen’s jaw shut with a snap. He stood there, every fiber
of his being telling him to go to her side. He didn’t understand. Not five
minutes past, she’d been holding him, caring for him. Why reject him now?
“I…” He started, the words sticking to his tongue. “Please
let me help you.”
“I don’t want your
help.” She sat up and beat her hands against her shins. “My legs are asleep.
Nothing more.” A blush burned across her cheeks and down her neck.
“Surely, there must be something I can—”
“No.” The sharp edge in her voice was enough to send him
back a pace. “I already said I didn’t. At least…”
“Yes?” he pressed. His feelings of uselessness increased
with each passing moment.
“Later tonight, or maybe tomorrow, I… you said that you had
something you needed to tell me. There’s something that I need to discuss as
well, about your position here.”
He faltered at that. Had he not done what she wanted?
Perhaps this was over their losses in Haven. The workers had no right to engage
in battle. He should’ve done more to stop them. Cullen cleared his throat and
said, “I see.”
“Good.” She nodded once and turned away. “I’ll see you later
then, Commander.”
Cullen remained standing there long after Kaitlyn had
climbed down and left. A deep sense of defeat settled over him as he made his
way towards his bed. He had lost something in that moment with her. There’d
been no smile in her voice, no warmth or curiosity in her eyes. His dream of
holding her, of kissing her faded as
he pulled on a fresh shirt and splashed his face with water. He stared at his
rippling reflection and wondered what she saw when she looked at him now. A
templar? A broken man? A soldier too tied to his blade? He shook his head and
continued to dress, praying that when she heard how he’d stopped taking
lyrium, it didn’t make things worse.