When you try your best but you don't succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse
And tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
~"Fix you" – Coldplay
~o0o~
There's a box on the floor by his bedroom door. Cullen is not sure how long he's been staring at it by now. It certainly makes for something new to look at, and that's kinda something. He has already stared long enough at everything else in the room since… how long has it been? Months, surely. He hasn't left this room for months. It's… comfortable, here. Easier. It's in the Tower, sure, but it's new. He didn't have this room before. They only gave it to him after. It's easier not to remember anything, here. Anywhere else in the Tower, he can't help it. The Tower is still full of her, even if she's gone. Memories. Memories of her everywhere, twisted, broken, purple…
He forces himself to stop this train of thought. The box. On his doorstep.
It's a small box, wrapped in blue paper with a white bow on top and a little card jutting out from under the ribbon. A gift, apparently. He wouldn't even have noticed if the Templar that brought him his food hadn't commented on it. "Satinalia's coming early this year or what?" he'd said, just a little too loudly, the joviality forced in his voice. That's how people talk around Cullen now. It's always just a little too soft and careful, or just a little too loud and cheerful. People don't know how to deal with him. He doesn't blame them one bit.
The box. What to do with the box?
He gets on his feet with some difficulty, his muscles protesting after such a long time of inactivity, and he retrieves the box, bringing it back to his cot. He plucks the little card from under the ribbon and reads it.
To: Cullen
From: Solona
She's kneeling in front of him on the other side of the shimmering wall, her hands pressed against the barrier, and he can tell that it hurts her but she doesn't let go, and why would she, she's a demon, they thrive on pain, and she's crying but it's just a trick…
"Cullen! Please, Cullen, it's me, it's really me! Maker, I didn't know… I never knew…"
There's a loud crash and Cullen jumps. He just threw the box hard against the wall.
He scrambles back on his cot, breathing heavily, and huddles against the headboard, hugging his knees to his chest, his mind fighting the onslaught of memories, " No, no, no…"
She's smiling, her hands reaching for his face, and she kisses him and it's wonderful, but he frowns, this isn't real, and her hands turn purple and horns grow on her head and she's laughing at him…
She bursts out of the Harrowing chamber, and her eyes seek him, she sees that the magical prison has faded and she laughs with relief, and a man he doesn't know dressed in a Templar armour puts a hand on her shoulder and smiles at her but she only has eyes for him…
She's a free mage, now. She's the Hero of Ferelden, the slayer of the Archdemon, the Commander of the Grey, the Arlessa of Amaranthine. She saved them all.
She doomed him.
Sand. There's sand falling from the broken blue box, and he doesn't understand, he reaches out…
A handful of sand remains inside the box, and a broken seashell. He picks it up, turns it between his fingers, confused. The outer side of it is black, streaked with brown. The inner side is white and shimmers with subtle, shiny colours.
He falls back on the cot, holding the shell in one hand and the little card in the other. There's something written on the back of the card.
I know your memories are tainted now, so I'm offering you mine. Love, S.
He looks at the broken shell again, almost afraid. He doesn't remember… doesn't want to… wait… the shell look like…
He's playing with a bit of broken shell as he patrols the shore while the mages are permitted to walk the ground. It's funny, because the shell looks a bit like a fish with big bulging eyes and a tiny little tail. Most of the mages stay close to the doors, walking in tight groups, but he spots one, alone on the other side of the tower, her gaze turned to the lake.
"Miss, get back with the others, please…"
"I'm sorry, I won't get closer to the lake, I just… I just want to see the water… I lived by a lake, before, my mum used to take me fishing…"
He smiles at her forlorn expression, "I can't allow you closer to the shore, but here." He gives her the shell. She takes it, looks up at him and smiles and…
It's Solona.
"No…"
He shuts his eyes, waiting for the painful moment when the memory will turn to bloody nightmare, when her soft face will distort and fade… but it just doesn't.
The memory is fresh in his mind, unaffected, her face unwavering. He remembers it now, but he didn't remember it before and it means…
It means the demons never got to it.
His eyes still shut tight, he clings to the memory, barely breathing, trying to recall more details. Her fingers caress the shell slowly, following patterns of colours and motifs. She smiles at him, her eyes bright, "Thank you." Her voice is soft. She's happy.
Tears come, unbidden, tears of sadness and relief, and he's glad he's alone because he doesn't see how he can keep them from falling. For so long he fought against the memories, his mind so utterly broken he was unable to discern what was real and what was pure demonic torture, and now he had one clear, unsullied memory he could be sure was only hers.
How can she remember things he didn't? He remembers how it used to feel like, watching her go about her life around the Tower, loving her from afar. He was so convinced that she didn't even notice him, that she wasn't giving him any more thoughts than any other Templar. He thought he was keeping each moment they were together close to his heart, cherishing the memories, thinking that they were all he was ever going to get. When the demons got hold of them and tore them apart, it felt like they were ripping his very soul. Yet, he's finding out there are still memories left. What he had fiercely kept alive in his mind where only those moments he truly cherished, those that meant something to him.
This was hers. Her own cherished memory of him. He knows what it means, and can't help but burst in broken, gasping sobs when it hit him.
She loved him back. Loves him still.
Every following morning, a new gift comes, each one bringing a new memory.
A book, with a red cover, the title written in golden letters: The valiant Knight Templar.
A book falls to the ground at his feet.
"Oh, sorry, no, no, please, ser Cullen, don't bother…"
He bends to pick it up, glances at the title. Raises a curious eyebrow.
She snatches the book from his hands, looks at the ground, mumbling incoherently. Her cheeks turn an interesting shade of red. She hurries away.
A chocolate cupcake with coloured sprinkled candy on top. It takes a little time before he can remember.
"Are you hungry, ser Cullen?" She smiles, handing him the treat. "I baked them myself."
The cupcake tastes absolutely awful, as if she'd put salt instead of sugar in the recipe. He forces himself to swallow a bite and smile, throwing it away when she leaves.
It feels amazingly liberating, not having to fight the memories, letting them come freely. His mind is slowly becoming his own again, instead of this enemy that needs to be kept in check. Cullen spends his days concentrating on the gifts, his eyes closed, trying to recall every detail. How she smiled that time, how she kept fidgeting with her hair, how her head cocked gently to the side, how she bounced lightly when she walked away… the sound of her laughter, the small catch in her breath, the softness of her voice…
These… these are the memories of how she loved him.
She's a free mage, now. She's the Hero of Ferelden, the slayer of the Archdemon, the Commander of the Grey, the Arlessa of Amaranthine. She saved them all.
And then she came back for him.
One morning, when he opens the door, there's no box. There's only her.
She's standing in the doorframe, a tray of food clutched in her hands. She looks terrified.
"Hi."
He's frozen in place, absolutely petrified. What should he say now?
"Hi." His voice is so hoarse. He clears his throat awkwardly.
She's here. She's actually here, in the flesh. She looks… different. Her skin is darker, for once. And she's thinner, her cheeks almost hollow, her blue mage's robes almost floating on her frame. Her hair is longer too, tied in a loose ponytail with some white piece of fabric.
Wait, what?
He looks again. Wrapped in blue, with a white bow on top. He can't help but smile.
She sees it, and he sees her eyes fill with light before she drops her gaze.
"I… brought you some, food, if you… ahem… well if you're… ah… hungry," she mumbles, apparently talking to the tray.
He feels his heart swell. It's hard to believe she killed a gigantic tainted dragon only months before, with her bare hands too, if the stories are to be believed.
"Thank you."
"Maybe I should just… put this… here. Yes."
She puts the tray down on the table, and he sees her eyes glance towards the gifts by his bed before she drops her gaze again.
"There. Yes. Well." She clears her throat.
He can't think of anything to say. Her being here is so… surreal, it's too raw, too soon, and he's not ready, so not ready, and yet…
"I guess I should…" she begins, turning towards the door, and he can't help it. His hand reaches out to catch hers.
"Wait…"
He touches her hand, and suddenly, with the feeling of her soft, warm skin under his fingertips, this is absolutely, undeniably, exhilaratingly real. Her gaze fall on their joined hands and she stares, transfixed, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
"Can I… Will you come back? Tomorrow?"
She finally looks up at him, and her whole face lit up with a smile so bright he can't help but smile in return.
"Yes. Yes, of course."
There's a small hesitation, then she leans a bit towards him, kissing his cheek lightly.
"Happy Satinalia, Cullen."
Then she's gone. He's left there, in the middle of his room, one of his hands slowly reaching up to ghost over his cheek. Where she kissed him.
Wait, what's that?
He takes a stumbling step towards the mirror. When did this huge ugly beard on his face happen?
He groans. He needs a shave. Badly. And probably a bath.
She's coming back tomorrow, after all.
Author's note: This was written for RewindedMiracle for the Secret Santa gift exchange on the CMDA board. Happy Holidays Rewinded! I wish you joy and happiness, you deserve it.
To all of you, I hope you enjoyed! Happy holidays!