When the rage ebbs, subsides, vanishes completely, Cecily finds herself faced with something else entirely: guilt. It courses through her just as strongly as the artificial anger had and has her pressing her back to her (their) door, a hand pressed tight to her mouth.
Holy Andraste, what happened to me? But she knows, has maybe known all along, though in the back of her mind; it's the usual suspects, it has to be. If not... well. It's much more terrifying to imagine she'd lash out like a selfish child at any little thing.
There are a dozen things that she wants to say, but she sends Cullen a brief message, praying it'll be enough. ]
[ he wakes up and the only anger he feels is a mild annoyance at pup for having drooled on the duvet. it's a nice change. until he remembers what it is he's done while (presumably) under the influence of a wakening god. the anger comes back then in the form of self-loathing.
what had he been thinking? snapping at dorian, picking a fight with cecily, snarling at everyone including the dog. maker, he'd been awful. he should've had more control. shouldn't have given in.
the feeling only grows when he gets cecily's message. he doesn't respond, just walks home with his mabari at his heels (he'll have to find him a treat or a nice stick to play with later) and a hangdog expression. cullen's quiet when he slips into the house and toes off his boots. and the first thing he does when he sees his wife?
he says, ] I'm sorry. I shouldn't have--well. [ he rubs the back of his neck. stares at his socks. there's a hole in the toe of one of them he should darn before too long. ]
[ She starts forward when he enters, heart pounding. She's relieved to see him, exasperated that he's the first to apologize, scared to pieces that he may decide to pack up for good (which is irrational, isn't it?). The rarely-flustered Inquisitor averts her gaze, face reddening with the shame of it all. For the things that she said. For the things that she thought, that he never heard, that she would make sure he never, ever heard. ]
I'm so... so sorry. [ At least it hadn't come to blows; as much as she'd like to tell herself that it would never happen, the image of the pair of them resorting to some kind of violence, stubborn and angry, is imaginable. ] I said- ... I was hateful, and petty, and I don't know what came over me.
[ Not to mention highly dramatic. I told him to let me be killed.
Finally, she looks back up, anxieties spilling out into the way she's set her jaw and into her searching eyes. ]
I can move into the spare room. [ Cecily says quietly. ] Just... stay here. With us.
[ he shakes his head, moving closer before she can get the word room out fully. gently, carefully, he cups her face in his hands. yesterday, he would not have been able to do this, so blinded was he by his anger. it frightens him. reminds him of his time in kirkwall and brings shame down to rest heavily on his shoulders. he has been trying so very hard to not be the kind of man who is ruled by his fear and rage, and he has slipped in a terrible way.
even so, cullen won't surrender this. ]
No, you don't--if anyone should be moving it should be me.
[ he swallows hard and searches her face. for what, he's not exactly sure. reassurance that she won't turn him out on his ear? that this hasn't ruined their new-not-yet marriage? ]
We were neither of us in our right minds. You have nothing to be sorry for. And I--I would rather we stay together, if you will still have me.
[ She isn't about to let herself off the hook, but even so, it's a relief and a blessing to have him move in so quickly, to reach out, to reassure. There's still a breathless, disbelieving laugh at what he says at first; as if this could be at all his fault when all he'd done, really, was look out for her safety.
It isn't something she should allow herself, but Cecily gently tugs free from his hands to lean in and press her lips to his, lingering there for a moment before withdrawing and taking something from her pocket. When she raises her hand to show him, it's the coin he gave her, for luck, sitting in her palm. ]
I arrived with it. [ She says softly. ] And... I know - I've known this whole time - that you've just been trying to keep me from doing something stupid, or dangerous. Or both. I've never been very good at taking good advice.
[ Cecily looks up again after turning the coin over, carefully monitoring his expression, his reaction. ]
I would rather us stay together, too. [ She finishes. ] And for more than just your stopping me from being a bloody idiot.
[ The Inquisitor isn't very good with sentiment, but in this instance, it needs to be said. ]
Cullen-- [ He knows her well and will be able to tell from one word that there's something eating away at her, despite the good-feelings fireflies that have lit up their cavernous home recently. ] I can't reach Dorian, I haven't seen him anywhere, and I think...
[ He knows. Dorian's gone the way of Rainier. Her stomach twists and she ends up only leaving a message, not calling again, all too ready for a glass of wine in honor of both of their lost friends and housemates.
[ cullen shoots her a quick text message in reply (Pup and I will sniff him out.) followed by one of chris and emily's emojis. (♥)
they're out for maybe an hour, and when they come home it's with heavy hearts. no sign of dorian. no scent trail to follow, not even to the door. it's like he just disappeared out of thin air.
cullen's quiet as they make their way through the house. he spots cecily and her wine, holds up one finger to tell her he'll just be a minute, then leads his mabari to dorian's room. he opens the mage's door and lets the dog jump on his bed. pup circles once, twice, and lays down with a soft whine. cullen leaves him to it, then returns to his wife. ]
Nothing. He's gone, just like Rainier. [ and sera, and neria, and hawke. he prays they've gone back home and not somewhere worse. ]
[ She hadn't realized, not even two days ago when one of the mage's friends expressed concerns. Dorian spends time away from their home just as the rest of them do and she didn't allow herself to believe otherwise. ... Until today, that is, when she'd woken to a feeling of sickness likely brought on by the stress she'd been ignoring and had finally conceded to being concerned.
Cullen returns and she isn't on her first glass and she already knows. ]
Gone. [ She repeats, and they have less people from Thedas in Hadriel now than they ever have. Less nearby than she's had since the explosion at the Conclave that began everything. She looks back at him and stands, swiftly crossing the room and drawing him close for an embrace that lasts for over a minute of measured silence. ]
If you go, I'll never forgive you. [ The Inquisitor mutters, trying to fake anger and only coming up with an expression of deep-set exhaustion. She pulls back, returns to her seat, then considers the glass of wine, tracing her index finger along the rim. ]
Do you know that Cole doesn't know who I am? [ She asks suddenly, not looking over toward him. ] Did he tell you that?
[ the embrace is a welcome comfort. it's something cullen probably wouldn't seek out himself, but--it helps. dorian was--is a dear friend, and his disappearance has cullen worried.
he kisses cecily on the forehead as she pulls back, then takes a seat. not on an actual chair like a normal person, but on the floor in front of her, back resting against her legs and head tipped back on her knees. ] The same goes for you, you know. [ he shudders to think of what life here would be like without her by his side.
or, now that she's mentioned it, life back home. ]
No, he didn't. That's... very strange. [ to say the least. ]
[ Arya has been pacing along the path outside Cullen's house for a long while now. It could be hours. She isn't sure. Arya doesn't know what to make of those dreams, but she figures she probably ruined Cullen's night. Multiple times. So for once, she decides to apologize.
Arya knocks tentatively on the door. ]
Hello?
[ She tries to make her voice as clear as possible, but there's still some uncertainty there. ]
[ from inside the house there comes the sound of excited barking. it moves closer and closer to the door until cullen opens it and then--pup, the giant friendly dog squeezes his way between his master's legs and hops in circles around arya.
cullen shakes his head and plants his hands on his hips. ] Pup! Heel. Let her at least say hello before you demand attention. [ and ear scritches.
with a quiet sigh, he opens the door enough for the dog to bound back inside, then gives arya a curious look. her dreams didn't ruin his night at all, but he is a little worried about her after seeing hers. ]
My apologies. He's a bit excitable. Would you like to come in?
[ something in his face softens as he looks down at her. ]
There's no need to apologize. Truly. You weren't troublesome at all.
[ yes, her own dream was a little frightening and he's concerned about her and what kind of world she came from that she dreams of things like that. but troublesome? not even close. ]
[ She leaves a note. She hasn't vanished, hasn't done anything wrong, really, but she's certainly been acting strangely since Sorrow was resurrected. At first, Cecily only seemed restless, tossing and turning at night and prowling the city during the day. She does the same now, still, but in the times when she and Cullen are together, her mind is elsewhere, her mouth pushing to form words that she won't allow, but can barely contain. They make an appearance on paper left on the counter in the middle of the week. ]
It's a coward's play to write this all down instead of telling it to you, but I know you would only interrupt and stop me saying it, so I've decided on this.
There are so many things to say, but the one that's most come up is that you've made a mistake. Not only you, but the entire Inquisition. I was part of what directly caused the explosion at the Conclave: a nobody at best and a murderer at worst. I may not have created the anchor or invaded the meeting, but my interference did cause an explosion that killed so many better people than I. Still, you all released me from shackles and raised me up to a position of unimaginable power despite that.
Who was I to be a leader? Who AM I to be the Inquisitor? I ordered executions and judged those who were not always worse than myself. I am responsible for so many deaths. I was never sent by Andraste and was only given a title because better people, REAL leaders, couldn't be found. You would have been better off with the Hero or the Champion, I know you would.
I'm sorry to this day that the Divine saved my life rather than the other way round. That I made the decision to leave a good man in the Fade while I escaped. We may have defeated Corypheus, but the Exalted Council is a reminder of the fact that I've managed to twist what you all started into something that is now reviled.
I am not a good person. You deserve better. You always have.
[ Then, scrawled almost hastily at the bottom-side: ]
Don't worry. I'm not running off anywhere. I just needed to say all that, for you to really hear it.
[ "Read" it, rather. And for all the good it does her; Cecily gets no solace from the confession and the guilt and regret continue to build throughout the event. ]
[ she's right. he would have tried to argue if she had said something like this in person. and if she'd written this any other time, he might have gone looking for her to try and lovingly beat the truth into her head.
it's not any other time, though, and reading this kicks the guilt and sorrow cullen's been feeling up yet another notch. or ten. if she feels that she's not a good person because of this--things beyond her control, things she clearly isn't seeing right--then what would she think of him if she knew the truth? about kirkwall. about kinloch. about so many damn things.
cullen loses himself in the memories and swirl of guilt, sitting on the couch and staring at his hands, cecily's note beside him. pup gets worried, but even the mabari can't shake him out of his fugue. not until cecily finally comes home and the dog runs for the door, whining and barking with worry. then, cullen puts his face in his hands and shudders.
he doesn't want to do this. doesn't want to talk to her, but he can feel something welling up within him. there's not going to be any stopping this, but maybe he can-- ]
I need to talk to you. Need to tell you... [ well, so much for being able to do this well and in a non-worrying way. the words fall from his mouth without so much as a by-your-leave and he can't stop himself from going on. ] You're wrong about me. I'm not a good man, Cecily, and I don't deserve-- [ he laughs, bitter and strained. ] Maker, I probably deserve to be hanged for what I've done.
[ Cecily stands stock still in the doorway, only raising a hand to greet and calm Pup, which doesn't exactly work. Whatever's brought on his anxiety--... but, then she sees Cullen, the way he's sitting, and the moment he begins speaking, she knows. Sorrow's influence extends throughout their cavernous home, after all, and she's seen already that others have been affected. That there are confessions and admissions of guilt being made left and right within Hadriel. She spies her own, or what she guesses is her letter, laid out next to her husband.
He finishes for the moment and she's silent, mind working, but still heavy with her own regrets. ]
The last man who said that to me was guiltier than you, but I didn't let him hang, either.
[ She remembers easily that day in the harsh sun of Val Royeaux, of the dank dungeons not long after. Blackwall - Rainier - rattled the bars of his cell at her as he tried to make her understand what he'd done. She'd understood, had spoken with a handful of others about the man and his crimes to ensure that she did. Even so, she brought him back to Skyhold (and he'd rightfully, she thinks, called them all corrupt). Even so, she'd used her power to free him back into work with the Inquisition.
Fleetingly, Cecily sees Cullen vanishing from their home one day only to find him standing atop the gallows with a noose brushing the back of his neck. At her sides, her hands tremble. ]
I've met a lot of people. [ She says in a low voice, still unmoving. ] People from all across Thedas. I know, beyond a doubt, that you are a better man than most.
[ Of-bloody-course he doesn't deserve to be hanged; the idea is absurd (thinks the woman who believes she'd deserved to be left in the Fade twice over). ]
How can you say that? [ The Inquisitor presses indignantly, after a pause. ]
[ he shifts, but just enough so that his hands no longer cover his face or muffle his words. he still can't look at her. ]
In Kinloch, I was... tempted with visions of a mage I had feelings for. In between bouts of-- [ torture and watching his friends die. ] I wanted to give in. More than that, I wanted to die. And after... After, I was so angry. That I'd survived. That other templars had escaped and didn't have to deal with what I'd gone through. That the Circle hadn't been annulled.
[ it was that anger that made gregoir ship him off. first to greenfell, then to kinloch. and it was that anger that meredith preyed on, used to make him her perfect knight-captain. until the end, that is. ]
In Kirkwall... [ cullen pauses. swallows hard. ] There were things that happened there that should never happen to anyone. I didn't know about some of it at first. I would have--I would have stopped it if I had known. There were templars that abused their authority. With mages. With the tranquil. [ to put it delicately. ] Even after... There was only so much I could do.
[ he curls in on himself, eyes clenching shut. ]
At least, that's what I told myself. And there were other things that I didn't stop. Didn't think I could. Mages being made tranquil without good cause. Beatings. I wanted to believe that Meredith knew what she was doing. That it wasn't all bad. That I wasn't party to-- [ things like what he went through, minus the blood magic.
pup whines quietly and pads forward, wiggling his way into cullen's arms. it brings a shaky sigh out of him. but he still can't look at cecily. he hates himself for all of this. hates himself for talking about it. hates sorrow just a little for bringing all this out of him when he knows--knows that he's been working towards being better. a better man and better at thinking about himself. carrying the responsibility of his actions without letting the guilt and the regret keep him from trying to atone.
[ it's taken days to gather up the courage to open up Cullen's contact, days since her revival berating herself over the things she said to him. he'd been right. they'd all been right.
it's not an easy pill to swallow. ]
I'm sorry, Cullen. [ there's really nothing else to say. she has no excuses to give him as there are no excuses for her actions. ]
[ if things had been different--if he'd been affected especially negatively by what she had done, or if she was texting him on another day--maybe he'd be angry at her. right now, he's just tired. ]
I don't deserve that, you know. [ she doesn't really want it, either, far more interested in wallowing in her own guilt than receiving forgiveness. ] Fear sent me a gift for what I did.
[ Some days their schedules have them cross paths more often than others. Both have been fairly busy lately, and the hours of separation, though not new, have given her a lot of time to think.
That isn't always a good thing with the Inquisitor, but this time it's brought (she thinks) a little clarity. At the very least, it's helped her come around to facing a particularly unpleasant truth, even if it's taken a long time to own up to it. ]
Cullen,
Can you meet me by the lake? The side closest to the headquarters of the guard.
Preferably sooner, but whenever you've got the time.
[ Then, a second message, spurred by what's on her mind: ]
[ and, sure enough, he's walking towards her a few minutes later, sword at his hip and shield slung over his back. pup is absent, however. something tells him that this is a conversation that would be best without doggy interruptions. ]
[ It's almost alarming to see him without Pup. Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise and she actually manages a bit of a grin as he approaches, alone. ]
What if I'd found something special for the dog? The whole thing would be ruined.
[ Of course, that isn't why she'd asked to meet with him. The grin fades. ]
We - I've been putting this off, but... [ Cecily, growing uncomfortable, averts her gaze and thumbs absent-mindedly at the anchor. ] There's time, here. A lot more than we might have back home.
[ Than I might have. Solemn, she lifts her eyes again to meet his. ]
You and I both know that this thing is killing me, and... in case we can't find a way to stop it - which I intend to do, by the way - I want to talk about the Inquisition. About... what I'd like for it, after.
[ Yes, all right, it's worrying, but it's necessary. And it's come very late, later than it should have. ]
[ his first instinct is to deny it. vehemently. more so than he did in skyhold's little chapel before she went off to face corypheus for the last time. cecily is his wife and he can't imagine life without her--doesn't want to.
and yet.
cullen has known that this was coming. how could he not, with how her condition has degenerated so much over time, and with the exalted council being called? and how can he do anything but make sure her wishes are heard and carried out? he is her commander and her husband; it's his duty. he has always endured for his duty and so too shall he endure the worst, should it come to pass.
he sighs quietly and nods. ] Alright. Let's talk.
[ or rather, cecily should talk and he'll listen. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jan 6
When the rage ebbs, subsides, vanishes completely, Cecily finds herself faced with something else entirely: guilt. It courses through her just as strongly as the artificial anger had and has her pressing her back to her (their) door, a hand pressed tight to her mouth.
Holy Andraste, what happened to me? But she knows, has maybe known all along, though in the back of her mind; it's the usual suspects, it has to be. If not... well. It's much more terrifying to imagine she'd lash out like a selfish child at any little thing.
There are a dozen things that she wants to say, but she sends Cullen a brief message, praying it'll be enough. ]
Please come home. We need to talk.
no subject
what had he been thinking? snapping at dorian, picking a fight with cecily, snarling at everyone including the dog. maker, he'd been awful. he should've had more control. shouldn't have given in.
the feeling only grows when he gets cecily's message. he doesn't respond, just walks home with his mabari at his heels (he'll have to find him a treat or a nice stick to play with later) and a hangdog expression. cullen's quiet when he slips into the house and toes off his boots. and the first thing he does when he sees his wife?
he says, ] I'm sorry. I shouldn't have--well. [ he rubs the back of his neck. stares at his socks. there's a hole in the toe of one of them he should darn before too long. ]
no subject
[ She starts forward when he enters, heart pounding. She's relieved to see him, exasperated that he's the first to apologize, scared to pieces that he may decide to pack up for good (which is irrational, isn't it?). The rarely-flustered Inquisitor averts her gaze, face reddening with the shame of it all. For the things that she said. For the things that she thought, that he never heard, that she would make sure he never, ever heard. ]
I'm so... so sorry. [ At least it hadn't come to blows; as much as she'd like to tell herself that it would never happen, the image of the pair of them resorting to some kind of violence, stubborn and angry, is imaginable. ] I said- ... I was hateful, and petty, and I don't know what came over me.
[ Not to mention highly dramatic. I told him to let me be killed.
Finally, she looks back up, anxieties spilling out into the way she's set her jaw and into her searching eyes. ]
I can move into the spare room. [ Cecily says quietly. ] Just... stay here. With us.
[ Please. ]
no subject
even so, cullen won't surrender this. ]
No, you don't--if anyone should be moving it should be me.
[ he swallows hard and searches her face. for what, he's not exactly sure. reassurance that she won't turn him out on his ear? that this hasn't ruined their new-not-yet marriage? ]
We were neither of us in our right minds. You have nothing to be sorry for. And I--I would rather we stay together, if you will still have me.
no subject
It isn't something she should allow herself, but Cecily gently tugs free from his hands to lean in and press her lips to his, lingering there for a moment before withdrawing and taking something from her pocket. When she raises her hand to show him, it's the coin he gave her, for luck, sitting in her palm. ]
I arrived with it. [ She says softly. ] And... I know - I've known this whole time - that you've just been trying to keep me from doing something stupid, or dangerous. Or both. I've never been very good at taking good advice.
[ Cecily looks up again after turning the coin over, carefully monitoring his expression, his reaction. ]
I would rather us stay together, too. [ She finishes. ] And for more than just your stopping me from being a bloody idiot.
[ The Inquisitor isn't very good with sentiment, but in this instance, it needs to be said. ]
I love you. And I'll make this right.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
i should probably apologize for this.
a plague upon your house
heh.
(no subject)
voice;
[ He knows. Dorian's gone the way of Rainier. Her stomach twists and she ends up only leaving a message, not calling again, all too ready for a glass of wine in honor of both of their lost friends and housemates.
It's far too empty without them. ]
no subject
they're out for maybe an hour, and when they come home it's with heavy hearts. no sign of dorian. no scent trail to follow, not even to the door. it's like he just disappeared out of thin air.
cullen's quiet as they make their way through the house. he spots cecily and her wine, holds up one finger to tell her he'll just be a minute, then leads his mabari to dorian's room. he opens the mage's door and lets the dog jump on his bed. pup circles once, twice, and lays down with a soft whine. cullen leaves him to it, then returns to his wife. ]
Nothing. He's gone, just like Rainier. [ and sera, and neria, and hawke. he prays they've gone back home and not somewhere worse. ]
no subject
Cullen returns and she isn't on her first glass and she already knows. ]
Gone. [ She repeats, and they have less people from Thedas in Hadriel now than they ever have. Less nearby than she's had since the explosion at the Conclave that began everything. She looks back at him and stands, swiftly crossing the room and drawing him close for an embrace that lasts for over a minute of measured silence. ]
If you go, I'll never forgive you. [ The Inquisitor mutters, trying to fake anger and only coming up with an expression of deep-set exhaustion. She pulls back, returns to her seat, then considers the glass of wine, tracing her index finger along the rim. ]
Do you know that Cole doesn't know who I am? [ She asks suddenly, not looking over toward him. ] Did he tell you that?
no subject
he kisses cecily on the forehead as she pulls back, then takes a seat. not on an actual chair like a normal person, but on the floor in front of her, back resting against her legs and head tipped back on her knees. ] The same goes for you, you know. [ he shudders to think of what life here would be like without her by his side.
or, now that she's mentioned it, life back home. ]
No, he didn't. That's... very strange. [ to say the least. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
Arya knocks tentatively on the door. ]
Hello?
[ She tries to make her voice as clear as possible, but there's still some uncertainty there. ]
no subject
cullen shakes his head and plants his hands on his hips. ] Pup! Heel. Let her at least say hello before you demand attention. [ and ear scritches.
with a quiet sigh, he opens the door enough for the dog to bound back inside, then gives arya a curious look. her dreams didn't ruin his night at all, but he is a little worried about her after seeing hers. ]
My apologies. He's a bit excitable. Would you like to come in?
no subject
But there's still apprehension in her eyes when she looks at Cullen. ]
Only if you wish. I -- I came to apologize, you see, for being troublesome in your dreams and I don't want to be more trouble through my apology.
[ Then Arya clamps her mouth shut. She knows she's rambling. ]
no subject
There's no need to apologize. Truly. You weren't troublesome at all.
[ yes, her own dream was a little frightening and he's concerned about her and what kind of world she came from that she dreams of things like that. but troublesome? not even close. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
It's a coward's play to write this all down instead of telling it to you, but I know you would only interrupt and stop me saying it, so I've decided on this.
There are so many things to say, but the one that's most come up is that you've made a mistake. Not only you, but the entire Inquisition. I was part of what directly caused the explosion at the Conclave: a nobody at best and a murderer at worst. I may not have created the anchor or invaded the meeting, but my interference did cause an explosion that killed so many better people than I. Still, you all released me from shackles and raised me up to a position of unimaginable power despite that.
Who was I to be a leader? Who AM I to be the Inquisitor? I ordered executions and judged those who were not always worse than myself. I am responsible for so many deaths. I was never sent by Andraste and was only given a title because better people, REAL leaders, couldn't be found. You would have been better off with the Hero or the Champion, I know you would.
I'm sorry to this day that the Divine saved my life rather than the other way round. That I made the decision to leave a good man in the Fade while I escaped. We may have defeated Corypheus, but the Exalted Council is a reminder of the fact that I've managed to twist what you all started into something that is now reviled.
I am not a good person. You deserve better. You always have.
[ Then, scrawled almost hastily at the bottom-side: ]
Don't worry. I'm not running off anywhere. I just needed to say all that, for you to really hear it.
[ "Read" it, rather. And for all the good it does her; Cecily gets no solace from the confession and the guilt and regret continue to build throughout the event. ]
no subject
it's not any other time, though, and reading this kicks the guilt and sorrow cullen's been feeling up yet another notch. or ten. if she feels that she's not a good person because of this--things beyond her control, things she clearly isn't seeing right--then what would she think of him if she knew the truth? about kirkwall. about kinloch. about so many damn things.
cullen loses himself in the memories and swirl of guilt, sitting on the couch and staring at his hands, cecily's note beside him. pup gets worried, but even the mabari can't shake him out of his fugue. not until cecily finally comes home and the dog runs for the door, whining and barking with worry. then, cullen puts his face in his hands and shudders.
he doesn't want to do this. doesn't want to talk to her, but he can feel something welling up within him. there's not going to be any stopping this, but maybe he can-- ]
I need to talk to you. Need to tell you... [ well, so much for being able to do this well and in a non-worrying way. the words fall from his mouth without so much as a by-your-leave and he can't stop himself from going on. ] You're wrong about me. I'm not a good man, Cecily, and I don't deserve-- [ he laughs, bitter and strained. ] Maker, I probably deserve to be hanged for what I've done.
no subject
He finishes for the moment and she's silent, mind working, but still heavy with her own regrets. ]
The last man who said that to me was guiltier than you, but I didn't let him hang, either.
[ She remembers easily that day in the harsh sun of Val Royeaux, of the dank dungeons not long after. Blackwall - Rainier - rattled the bars of his cell at her as he tried to make her understand what he'd done. She'd understood, had spoken with a handful of others about the man and his crimes to ensure that she did. Even so, she brought him back to Skyhold (and he'd rightfully, she thinks, called them all corrupt). Even so, she'd used her power to free him back into work with the Inquisition.
Fleetingly, Cecily sees Cullen vanishing from their home one day only to find him standing atop the gallows with a noose brushing the back of his neck. At her sides, her hands tremble. ]
I've met a lot of people. [ She says in a low voice, still unmoving. ] People from all across Thedas. I know, beyond a doubt, that you are a better man than most.
[ Of-bloody-course he doesn't deserve to be hanged; the idea is absurd (thinks the woman who believes she'd deserved to be left in the Fade twice over). ]
How can you say that? [ The Inquisitor presses indignantly, after a pause. ]
no subject
In Kinloch, I was... tempted with visions of a mage I had feelings for. In between bouts of-- [ torture and watching his friends die. ] I wanted to give in. More than that, I wanted to die. And after... After, I was so angry. That I'd survived. That other templars had escaped and didn't have to deal with what I'd gone through. That the Circle hadn't been annulled.
[ it was that anger that made gregoir ship him off. first to greenfell, then to kinloch. and it was that anger that meredith preyed on, used to make him her perfect knight-captain. until the end, that is. ]
In Kirkwall... [ cullen pauses. swallows hard. ] There were things that happened there that should never happen to anyone. I didn't know about some of it at first. I would have--I would have stopped it if I had known. There were templars that abused their authority. With mages. With the tranquil. [ to put it delicately. ] Even after... There was only so much I could do.
[ he curls in on himself, eyes clenching shut. ]
At least, that's what I told myself. And there were other things that I didn't stop. Didn't think I could. Mages being made tranquil without good cause. Beatings. I wanted to believe that Meredith knew what she was doing. That it wasn't all bad. That I wasn't party to-- [ things like what he went through, minus the blood magic.
pup whines quietly and pads forward, wiggling his way into cullen's arms. it brings a shaky sigh out of him. but he still can't look at cecily. he hates himself for all of this. hates himself for talking about it. hates sorrow just a little for bringing all this out of him when he knows--knows that he's been working towards being better. a better man and better at thinking about himself. carrying the responsibility of his actions without letting the guilt and the regret keep him from trying to atone.
all that is gone right now, though. damn gods. ]
I don't know how you can stand to be near me.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
27th | Text
it's not an easy pill to swallow. ]
I'm sorry, Cullen. [ there's really nothing else to say. she has no excuses to give him as there are no excuses for her actions. ]
no subject
I forgive you.
no subject
no subject
Fear is an asshole.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
text; 8/22
That isn't always a good thing with the Inquisitor, but this time it's brought (she thinks) a little clarity. At the very least, it's helped her come around to facing a particularly unpleasant truth, even if it's taken a long time to own up to it. ]
Cullen,
Can you meet me by the lake? The side closest to the headquarters of the guard.
Preferably sooner, but whenever you've got the time.
[ Then, a second message, spurred by what's on her mind: ]
I love you.
no subject
I'll be there in a few minutes.
I love you too.
[ and, sure enough, he's walking towards her a few minutes later, sword at his hip and shield slung over his back. pup is absent, however. something tells him that this is a conversation that would be best without doggy interruptions. ]
no subject
What if I'd found something special for the dog? The whole thing would be ruined.
[ Of course, that isn't why she'd asked to meet with him. The grin fades. ]
We - I've been putting this off, but... [ Cecily, growing uncomfortable, averts her gaze and thumbs absent-mindedly at the anchor. ] There's time, here. A lot more than we might have back home.
[ Than I might have. Solemn, she lifts her eyes again to meet his. ]
You and I both know that this thing is killing me, and... in case we can't find a way to stop it - which I intend to do, by the way - I want to talk about the Inquisition. About... what I'd like for it, after.
[ Yes, all right, it's worrying, but it's necessary. And it's come very late, later than it should have. ]
no subject
and yet.
cullen has known that this was coming. how could he not, with how her condition has degenerated so much over time, and with the exalted council being called? and how can he do anything but make sure her wishes are heard and carried out? he is her commander and her husband; it's his duty. he has always endured for his duty and so too shall he endure the worst, should it come to pass.
he sighs quietly and nods. ] Alright. Let's talk.
[ or rather, cecily should talk and he'll listen. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)