[ She doesn't know much of Kinloch beyond the stories, beyond his own, brief retelling of what had befallen them all there. Even after their two years together, there are still pieces of both of their pasts that they don't discuss. The finer details are obscured edges around the big picture. It still isn't a stretch of the imagination that there were templars that abused their power in a way that makes her stomach twist sickeningly. She may have held the order on a pedestal most of her life, with her brothers and her hopes for the future, but she'd learned quickly that every organization had its abusers, its monsters. ]
You were just a boy. [ She says, once she can do more than just stare. ] The demons manipulated your feelings when you were at your lowest. That you endured and survived even after that is... incredible.
[ She didn't need twisted visions or a broken mind to drive her to temptation. She'd done that purely out of spite and selfishness and impulse. Those memories stir at his confessions, and while nothing yet colors her opinion of Cullen, they rake deep into her own past, dredging up more and more shame and self-loathing. ]
I saw some of your time during the breach of the Circle and in Kirkwall. [ Cecily admits, shaking her head slowly. ] In your dreams. I may not have been there, but if they were at all accurate, then I know first hand that you did all you could. That you were never as bad as you've said.
[ She still thinks of those dreams, sometimes. Of the young, young Cullen, alone and devastated, with a desire demon whispering in his ear. Of the knight-commander, later, with a crumbling city and a leader who'd betrayed him, betrayed all the templars. ]
You couldn't have fixed everything, that's... unreasonable. [ Cecily steps forward, but not far, her movements stiff. ] You did all you could and took back power when it was possible. You're-- [ And she scoffs, shaking her head again in disbelief, staring hard at him. ] ... Brave, and kind, and caring, and good. You lived through all of those things, you have gentleness and love despite them, and while you struggled, I was--
[ Her breath hitches and so she shuts her jaw tight for a moment, clenching her teeth, now determinedly looking at the wall opposite. ]
Until the Conclave, I was a spoiled little girl who didn't care about anyone but herself. Even after that, after being spared, I didn't think much of the Inquisition. [ She lifts her chin, uttering a mirthless laugh to the ceiling. ] I was the only person to leave alive, I'd been freed from logical imprisonment, the Divine was dead, the world was ending, and I just wanted to hurry back home, to comfort and familiarity, to keep on how I'd been doing things.
[ As if that would be at all possible. Really, she has no idea what her life would have been like if she'd just up and returned to Ostwick. ]
No, you're not perfect, but you're a far cry from the child-Inquisitor. [ Finally, she looks his way again, voice wavering. ] I am the last person Andraste would ever choose as Her Herald if there ever would be one.
[ the way she talks about herself successfully takes cullen's mind off his own issues. (at least for now.) he stands and reaches out, hands cupping cecily's face as he frowns down at her, trying to catch her eye. ]
That is a lie and you know it. You were hardly a spoiled child when you came to us, and you are most definitely not the last person Andraste would choose as her Herald.
[ he doesn't know how to drill this into her head in a way she will accept, especially now that he's clear minded enough to realize all this is likely sorrow's doing. so he tries to direct the conversation in a different direction, tries to make her smile instead. though it's hard to think up something that will do so. ]
Surely Corypheus was much, much further down the list than you.
[ Where she would normally have relented (maybe) in an attempt to beat back these unwanted feelings into submission, it doesn't work out as well today. Sorrow's influence is powerful, bores holes into her core and leaves the gunk of twisted memories and regret there to rot. ]
It isn't a lie! I'm not trying to feel sorry for myself, I just-- [ It's a compulsion, like all the others they face in Hadriel. He has to feel it too, doesn't he? The urge to shake off some of this heavy guilt, to confess to everything she's done wrong? ] Fine, I may not be the bottom of the barrel, I may be not quite as unholy as the undead magister, but loads of better people have died because of me. I have to live with that.
[ Somehow. Cecily sets her jaw, staring hard at him, self-loathing doubling over when she realizes what's just happened: ]
Do you see? [ She scoffs, flapping a hand toward him. ] You just... said you had to talk, I made it completely about myself, and this-- this is exactly what I mean, Cullen. We've both just proven it.
[ he lets go of her and steps back with a huff. it's no use reasoning with her. she's stubborn on the best of days and sorrow's influence is just going to make that even worse. it's frustrating.
(sometimes, cullen wonders if he doesn't do a good job giving rage a fair bit of power all by himself.)
running a hand through his hair, he paces the length of the living room. ] And you think I don't live with the same thing? The guilt and knowledge that good people have died--and worse--because I was weak? If you can forgive me the atrocities I've committed, you should be able to forgive yourself.
[ no... no, this is not where he wanted to go with this. cullen grimaces. ]
No. [ Cecily replies, expecting a rueful bitterness and surprised to hear only exhaustion in her own voice. ] Which is why I wrote you in the first place.
[ The spike of regret ebbs, lowering to its usual flatline of late. The guilt just ripples there beneath the surface, but she isn't so clouded as to keep this on when it isn't going to accomplish anything. She'd said her piece, and so had he. ]
Maybe we can just forgive each other and move on. [ She murmurs, casting her gaze to poor, confused Pup. ] Until...
[ Until their thoughts and feelings aren't so amplified. The Inquisitor brushes some hair from her face, finishing the routine of getting in the door, eventually settling into a chair in quiet musing. ]
I miss the sunrises of Skyhold. [ She says suddenly, wistfully. ]
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You were just a boy. [ She says, once she can do more than just stare. ] The demons manipulated your feelings when you were at your lowest. That you endured and survived even after that is... incredible.
[ She didn't need twisted visions or a broken mind to drive her to temptation. She'd done that purely out of spite and selfishness and impulse. Those memories stir at his confessions, and while nothing yet colors her opinion of Cullen, they rake deep into her own past, dredging up more and more shame and self-loathing. ]
I saw some of your time during the breach of the Circle and in Kirkwall. [ Cecily admits, shaking her head slowly. ] In your dreams. I may not have been there, but if they were at all accurate, then I know first hand that you did all you could. That you were never as bad as you've said.
[ She still thinks of those dreams, sometimes. Of the young, young Cullen, alone and devastated, with a desire demon whispering in his ear. Of the knight-commander, later, with a crumbling city and a leader who'd betrayed him, betrayed all the templars. ]
You couldn't have fixed everything, that's... unreasonable. [ Cecily steps forward, but not far, her movements stiff. ] You did all you could and took back power when it was possible. You're-- [ And she scoffs, shaking her head again in disbelief, staring hard at him. ] ... Brave, and kind, and caring, and good. You lived through all of those things, you have gentleness and love despite them, and while you struggled, I was--
[ Her breath hitches and so she shuts her jaw tight for a moment, clenching her teeth, now determinedly looking at the wall opposite. ]
Until the Conclave, I was a spoiled little girl who didn't care about anyone but herself. Even after that, after being spared, I didn't think much of the Inquisition. [ She lifts her chin, uttering a mirthless laugh to the ceiling. ] I was the only person to leave alive, I'd been freed from logical imprisonment, the Divine was dead, the world was ending, and I just wanted to hurry back home, to comfort and familiarity, to keep on how I'd been doing things.
[ As if that would be at all possible. Really, she has no idea what her life would have been like if she'd just up and returned to Ostwick. ]
No, you're not perfect, but you're a far cry from the child-Inquisitor. [ Finally, she looks his way again, voice wavering. ] I am the last person Andraste would ever choose as Her Herald if there ever would be one.
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That is a lie and you know it. You were hardly a spoiled child when you came to us, and you are most definitely not the last person Andraste would choose as her Herald.
[ he doesn't know how to drill this into her head in a way she will accept, especially now that he's clear minded enough to realize all this is likely sorrow's doing. so he tries to direct the conversation in a different direction, tries to make her smile instead. though it's hard to think up something that will do so. ]
Surely Corypheus was much, much further down the list than you.
no subject
It isn't a lie! I'm not trying to feel sorry for myself, I just-- [ It's a compulsion, like all the others they face in Hadriel. He has to feel it too, doesn't he? The urge to shake off some of this heavy guilt, to confess to everything she's done wrong? ] Fine, I may not be the bottom of the barrel, I may be not quite as unholy as the undead magister, but loads of better people have died because of me. I have to live with that.
[ Somehow. Cecily sets her jaw, staring hard at him, self-loathing doubling over when she realizes what's just happened: ]
Do you see? [ She scoffs, flapping a hand toward him. ] You just... said you had to talk, I made it completely about myself, and this-- this is exactly what I mean, Cullen. We've both just proven it.
no subject
(sometimes, cullen wonders if he doesn't do a good job giving rage a fair bit of power all by himself.)
running a hand through his hair, he paces the length of the living room. ] And you think I don't live with the same thing? The guilt and knowledge that good people have died--and worse--because I was weak? If you can forgive me the atrocities I've committed, you should be able to forgive yourself.
[ no... no, this is not where he wanted to go with this. cullen grimaces. ]
We're not going to agree on this, are we?
no subject
[ The spike of regret ebbs, lowering to its usual flatline of late. The guilt just ripples there beneath the surface, but she isn't so clouded as to keep this on when it isn't going to accomplish anything. She'd said her piece, and so had he. ]
Maybe we can just forgive each other and move on. [ She murmurs, casting her gaze to poor, confused Pup. ] Until...
[ Until their thoughts and feelings aren't so amplified. The Inquisitor brushes some hair from her face, finishing the routine of getting in the door, eventually settling into a chair in quiet musing. ]
I miss the sunrises of Skyhold. [ She says suddenly, wistfully. ]