[ 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.
[ 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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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
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.
no subject
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. ]