I started this years ago. Added a paragraph here and there, never actually thought I'd finish it. But DAI brought back some of the inspiration. I'm going to warn you now, it's messy and OOC. Taking two years to complete only 4000+ words means I lost the thread multiple times. I'm posting this because we need more Cullen/Amell stories, so if you have something negative to say, please at least keep it constructive.
I don't own any of the characters. :(
Cullen noticed her from the moment she was brought into the Circle. She was dragged in, kicking and screaming. Most that were brought in were children, young, afraid, huge eyes in small faces. Most refused to speak for hours, days or in rare cases, weeks after they were brought to the tower. Solona Amell was different, so different than anyone he'd ever encountered. He was young then, barely nineteen and the youngest Templar recruit. Really, he should still be in training but here he was. And in his first week he met her. She was older than the average mage brought in, probably because of who she was. An Amell, close to royalty. They'd kept her magic hidden for years but eventually someone noticed. Someone always noticed and did their duty to report the apostate. And that was why Solona was here, fifteen years old, restrained and carried by two Templars, both more than twice her size. But she was holding her own, despite having her magic stripped temporarily as only Templars could. She should have felt weak, cold, disoriented. Perhaps it was the first sign that she was no ordinary mage, no ordinary woman. Because he'd heard she'd fought, from the moment they showed up at her door. She'd never tried to run, simply faced off with the five Templars that had arrived to pick her up. Because of her resistance she was punished severely. The last glimpse she'd seen of her parents was her mother's tear-stained face, her father's features set in stone. She'd never been allowed to say goodbye. Not to her mother or father or her brothers and sister.
Their ages hadn't been that similar. He was four years older, already gone through his training, hardened by the Chantry's teachings. At least he thought he was. He should have stayed far away from Solona Amell. But he was enraptured by the first glimpse of her face. Even screaming, her face distorted by rage, her eyes and cheeks swollen and red from tears, even looking like she did, he found she was beautiful. And the thought was wrong, in every way. And as the weeks passed, as he watched her adjust to her new surroundings with grace and determination he realized just how unique she was, at least to him. He was the one to catch her the first time she tried to escape, mere weeks after she'd arrived. She'd fallen in with Anders, an arrogant mage whose escape attempts were legendary, simply because he succeeded in actually leaving the Circle Tower most of the time. Not that he ever got very far. Cullen burned with rage and more than a little jealousy as he watched them sneak out of her room after hours. Cullen had no business being there but he'd convinced himself that he should stop by, even if he never knocked on her door, just being near her was enough. He'd wanted to rip Anders apart for the way he held Solona's hand in his, for the excited gleam in her eyes as she watched her fellow apprentice with adoring eyes. Cullen let them go. They were returned the next morning, Anders with a sullen expression on his handsome features, Solona wearing a huge smile. For a second her eyes met his when they were led in, and he'd imagined she smiled for him. The illusion was broken when her smile faded and her eyes dropped from his quickly.
It had taken almost a year before he'd stopped avoiding her, when he'd given into the feeling that had started as a simple crush. It had taken Anders refusing to include her in any more of his escape attempts and Solona sitting in the library wearing a forlorn expression. The first time he'd talked to her, he'd been impressed by how knowledgeable she was. Their relationship had progressed from simple friendship to something more within a short amount of time.
There was always a first time. Always a first time in their relationship. And there was always a last time. So much sooner than he might have hoped. So much sooner than he wanted. Their first kiss, burned into his memory, the taste of her lips, the small catch in her breath. Her smile, full of wonder and innocent desire. How old had they been then? She'd been so young, sixteen, yet so determined to have what she wanted. And maker, she'd wanted him. He tried not to think that he was taking advantage. How could he believe it when her smile was so warm? She was trapped in here, with him and others of his order. She was a prisoner but she told him he made her feel free and he clung to that thought. He clung to that thought for four more years, four more years of flirting and experimenting. He clung to that thought when her Harrowing was announced, and it was announced that he would be the Templar assigned to potentially execute her. He couldn't distinguish all the emotions he was feeling as he wielded the sword above her head, his hands shaking, his heart aching. What if he had to kill her? Would he be able to take her life? The answer was yes, would always have to be yes. There was always the possibility that when she fell asleep and awoke someone else would wear her face. A demon. And he had to be ready at any moment to strike her down. But his hands shook as he remembered the wonder in her eyes. As he remembered the taste of her lips, her tongue exploring his mouth so gently. As he remembered stolen moments behind closed doors, eager kisses, hesitant exploration in cramped awkward spaces.
Perhaps the greatest relief of his life was seeing her green eyes open, and seeing that she was still here with him like she'd promised. Greagoir hadn't been convinced, and even First Enchanter Irving had been confused. She was so fast, returning so much sooner than anyone in either man's memory. But she was back, he could see it in her eyes. The look she wore just for him, love and warmth and laughter. His Solona. He'd taken her to her room shortly after that and had smiled the entire time she was in his arms. She was safe, alive and he got to hold her for this moment at least.
The last moment they spoke before she was taken from him was light-hearted. How were either of them to know she would never get to say goodbye? How were either of them to know she would be forced to leave? She'd teased him about the looks he gave her, the stuttering he couldn't seem to control unless they were alone, and she was gasping his name. She'd suggested they go somewhere. And he regretted his refusal with every fiber of his being. He could have had one last time with her, one last memory, but she was still tired. He could see it in the dark circles under her eyes and he'd been worried. So he refused and she'd walked away with an exasperated sigh, a smile thrown over her shoulder to show she'd forgiven him. He wondered if that could have been their first time. They'd experimented with eager hands and wet kisses and warm touches. He remembered clearly the first time she'd fallen apart in his arms. But they'd never taken that last step. Another regret, another first they wouldn't have.
He didn't know what happened until he heard the other Templars talking. She was packing her things, watched closely by Greagoir and Irving and the Grey Warden, Duncan. She never had a chance to find him. He'd run, faster than he would ever run again just to see her departure. Solona was already on the boat that would take her to the dock at the other side of Lake Calenhad. He could see her looking for him, her expression filled with desperation. And he waved, not caring that the others would see, would guess the nature of their relationship. Because he was certain he would never see her again. And finally she noticed him, her face dissolving into tears as she waved goodbye. She called to him, but he could never be certain what she said. He liked to think it was "I love you." It helped him sleep at night.
It was a lonely existence without her. He walked around every bend and expected to see her smile. He saw her face in every new apprentice he met. He dreamed of her at night and he often awoke with tears on his face. His Solona, gone from him. He heard the rumors, of the deaths at Ostagar, the death of the king. But he grieved only for her, his bright light snuffed out. He barely comprehended daily life in the tower, so any news of the outside world was lost on him. He was more than surprised when Uldred took over. And the torture of his existence was magnified a hundredfold when the demons were sent to break him. Because what was better torture than to see her face on a demon, to hear them spout lies in her voice, make promises of love and marriage and children that they could never follow through on. But it was so tempting. The demons could never capture her spark, the warmth in her eyes, the adoration he could feel. But they wore her face, spoke words with her voice and he missed her so much. It would be such a simple thing to give in, to let them take over and he could be lost. Gone from the reality that she would never return.
He had no idea how long the torture had gone on, how many times he'd denied his Solona with weakening resolve. Or was it Solona? Was Solona here? But then he'd remind himself that she was dead at Ostagar, that even if she was here, it was only her ghost.
The demons became better at disguising themselves, until he could almost believe that it was Solona standing before him. That it was actually her pleading for him to believe her. His heart and head threatened to tear themselves apart as he shouted desperately at the apparition...and it stayed. It had always worked before. He'd broken down, tears wetting his face as he realized that they might have won. That the demons had finally convinced him. But he could deny himself no more. Not when his Solona left him, followed by a small group, and moved towards the top of the tower, where he waited. Uldred. He wanted to call after her desperately. He wanted to beg her to bring him along, to let him pretend that she was truly Solona for the remainder of his life, even if it lasted only a few more minutes.
Instead no words would escape, only sobs as he tried to form the words to beg, anything to see her again. His Solona. The spark had finally been there, even as dim as it had been. It was only when she was out of his sight, the red-haired man who followed so closely behind, that he finally saw the bodies. Dead demons strewn everywhere. It was when he finally let go of the doubt, and hope in the same moment.
Solona had returned, she wasn't dead. But too late. Far too late for his sanity, far too late for the men who lie dead beside him. And he was still trapped. Despite the proof that she'd indeed been here to help him, he felt a rising resentment that she'd left him behind. And though the bitterness was mixed with shame, he suddenly despised every mage. It was someone like her that had caused this, someone like her that had tortured him until he wasn't sure which moments were reality or how far he'd fallen into insanity.
He hated her far more in that moment than he cared to admit. She was gone for minutes? Hours? The time slipped away as he remembered every moment they'd shared with sudden resentment. As he re-imagined every expression of love and affection on her face to be replaced with calculation and scorn. Had she truly loved him? Or was she just another Uldred? Uldred, who no one had suspected of blood magic, who'd turned on them without hesitation. Was he the only one to survive?
Cullen managed to calm himself, to regain some part of his sense and realize that despite his sudden resentment and fear (yes, fear) of mages that Solona had not been at fault. Would she have joined the blood mages? No, not the woman he'd fallen in love with. The woman he still lingering feelings for, proven by the ease in which the demons tortured him with her face. Tortured and tempted in equal measure. But he was now aware of the true danger of a mage left to their own devices. A growing conviction grew in him that they needed to be in circles, that they needed to remain under the watchful eye of Templars. A part of him had always doubted when faced with Solona's honest and loving nature. A part of him had always felt guilt anytime he'd heard of mages that had been executed after failing their Harrowing. No longer.
Greagoir came for him first. The magic that had kept him caged had been broken long before. But he had been lost in thoughts of Solona and Uldred, of fates far worse than death, fates that had befallen his fellow Templars. It had taken several repeats of his name before he recognized Greagoir. And he'd stood to attention with a renewed conviction of his duty.
They met Solona in the lowest level. She was a Grey Warden now, one of the only two remaining wardens. She rode with three companions, but they were told that she had several. He was introduced to Sten, a Qunari who remained mostly silent but who looked on him with approval. There was Wynne, a woman he'd always respected, but he could no longer look her in the eyes, seeing the potential for violence even in a woman he'd known since he was a young recruit. And Alistair, the other Grey Warden. He loathed the man irrationally, his smug smile, the teasing comments he made to Solona. Comments that she ignored with a good-natured smirk and shake of her head. And yet, they stood too close for Cullen's liking, the man too familiar as he placed his hand on her back, or squeezed her hand in his to offer comfort.
Cullen knew that whatever chance he'd had with Solona had walked out the door with her when she'd left the Circle. He'd thought he'd come to terms with it, but the Demons had tortured him with the idea of what he could have. They tortured him with words of love from Solona's lips, with warm smiles, and the hope that there was something for them beyond the Circle walls. And some part of him had hoped, had wished despite the torment he'd endured. Some part of him had still dreamed of their reunion. But it wasn't what he'd imagined.
He wanted to say he missed her. Instead he treated her with distrust, felt words spilling from his lips without his consent. He meant to hurt her, and he did. He could see it when the joy of their reunion was replaced with hurt. When her green eyes welled with tears that she blinked back with determination. And he wanted to apologize, but he was too bitter, unable to restrain the rage he felt at every single mage. Rage that he directed at her, accusing her of negligence. Some part of him had prayed fervently to the Maker for her return. Some part of him had been certain that she would come back, if only to say goodbye properly. But she hadn't, not out of anything but obligation. Her return had been a fluke, a search for support in their fight against the Archdemon and the darkspawn. She'd left him behind and never looked back.
When he'd finally run out of bitter comments, he'd fallen silent under the accusing eyes of her companions. Wynne who looked so disappointed in him, Sten who stared stoically at him, and Alistair, who glared at him with animosity. Only Solona's hand on his arm, held the man back from a fight. And Cullen was more than ready to fight, to brawl with the man that Solona regarded with such affection. But it was Solona's eyes that stopped him. She wasn't angry, or resentful. She just looked sad, as sad as when the bird she'd found at 17 had died. As sad as when she heard of any mage who did not pass the Harrowing. She'd never aimed that look at him. He'd always been the one to cheer her up, to make the smile return to her face. And now he'd caused her sorrow, and had no idea how to fix it, or if he even wanted to.
"Can I have a moment alone with the Grey Warden?" he requested to the room at large. Solona herself, Greagoir, First Enchanter Irving, it did not matter to him who answered. But he needed to fix this.
Alistair stepped forwards, a sneer of contempt twisting his lips. "You can have as long as you want." he said boldly, intent on harming Cullen.
Greagoir merely shook his head in exasperation, conceded with a defeated sigh. Irving looked concerned but would not contradict Greagoir due to recent events. It was Solona, Cullen looked towards, trying to convey just how sorry he was for his bitter comments and accusations.
Finally she nodded, squaring her shoulders and gesturing for him to proceed her out of the room. They found themselves in a storage space of sorts, surrounded by boxes of supplies. But it provided some privacy with a closed door and solid walls so no one would overhear.
Solona stared at him, her focus making him nervous, as it had so often in the past. But they were no longer so young and naïve. It had only been weeks since he'd seen her last, a few short months perhaps. And yet, she was no longer the girl that he remembered. She hadn't smiled once in his presence, and she seemed older somehow, her face fixed in a permanent expression of apprehension.
"What happened to us?" he finally wondered aloud.
Solona started at the question, shaking her head. "The blight," she offered. "Or Uldred in your case."
"I didn't mean what I said." he offered in apology.
Solona finally smiled, but her eyes held a deep sadness. "Yes, you did Cullen. You meant every word."
And he had nothing to say in argument, could not refute her statement. His nerves were still strung tight, the resentment slowly smoldering into bitterness. He could not release his anger, could not forgive Solona for Uldred and half a dozen other things that might be unreasonable but felt justified. He didn't like the fear that had now been thrust to the forefront of his mind. He didn't like the man he could see himself become, so maybe it was best that he let Solona go. Whether she'd already started something with the other Grey Warden, Alistair, remained to be seen. But if he earned her heart, than Cullen could not begrudge Solona any happiness. He still loved her, but he'd already lost her.
"Then I can only offer a sincere apology," his mouth twisted in a shadow of a smile. "Whatever I think of mages now, whatever measures I feel are justified, I still feel that you are the exception with every fiber of my being. Solona, you are extraordinary. You always were."
Solona's eyes filled with tears, her green eyes wide with dismay. "So this is goodbye then." she surmised.
Cullen held his arms out at their surroundings. "What else can it be?" He asked. "What more could we ever hope to be than a templar and a mage, now Grey Warden. Our love...whatever emotion we'd convinced ourselves we felt, was doomed from the very beginning. The events – your departure, joining the Grey Wardens, Uldred – have all convinced me of that."
Solona stepped forward, her finger jabbing him in the chest. "Don't you dare, Cullen. I loved you, and there is nothing you could say that would convince me that you felt any less."
"And now you love him." Cullen stated.
Solona gasped, taking a step back. "Cullen, I would never..."
"You can tell yourself all the lies you want, but you care for Alistair. I can see it. Maybe you don't love him, but it's enough." Cullen sighed, his heart constricting at the guilt he could see in her eyes. "It no longer matters. You have an Archdemon to defeat, and I have a Circle to rebuild. Our paths are no longer the same. I just wanted to apologize. You've never done anything to deserve my ire. We can at least leave each other with a measure of respect and civility, can't we?"
Solona's expression hardened. "So that's it then, Cullen? You've made all the decisions and I'm left behind?"
Cullen snarled in anger. "You left behind? You left me Solona, without so much as a farewell."
"I didn't have a choice," Solona's voice cracked. "You think that I wanted to? You think that I would have made this choice, if it meant leaving you? I love you Cullen." Solona's eyes pleaded with him to believe her. But he knew she loved him, had known for years, even if the words had often gone unsaid.
"And I love you." Cullen's shoulder's slumped in defeat. "But our lives are no longer our own. You're a Grey Warden, one of only two. You're the only one who can defeat the Archdemon. And I must remain here. The Circle needs the Templars now more than ever. We both have obligations...maybe after..." he spoke the last words as a reassurance, as a promise he had no intention of keeping. He truly believed that what she felt for Alistair was not fleeting. When Solona loved, it was with all of herself. Perhaps it had been only weeks, but it was enough time for her to forget about the Templar that pined for her. Life and death situations had the consequence of bringing people closer. Alistair was clearly besotted with Solona.
"After." Solona agreed with a desperation that pained him. "You have to promise me, Cullen. After everything, you'll still be here. And I'll come back and it can be like it was before." She gripped the edge of his armor, tugging him to her urgently. "Please, Cullen."
And he had no choice but to agree, hands cupping her face, thumbs wiping away her tears. "Always, Solona. I'll always be waiting for you." And he was not lying.
But what she proposed was impossible. She could no more return to the Circle than he could turn back time. She was no longer simply a mage, and her obligation would extend past the Archdemon's death, if she was to survive it. And the thought of her death filled him with a greater fear than even Uldred or possession. She had to survive, there was no other conceivable option. A world without her presence was infinitely darker. So if-when she survived and even if she was willing to return, he had to leave. His experience had changed him fundamentally, the walls around him closing in on him. This place had been tainted, the floors stained with Templar's blood. And even if it hadn't, Greagoir was certain to be aware of the nature of their relationship, where he'd only suspected it before. One of them would be transferred with any form of contact permanently severed. But he could give her this lie, if it meant she could leave here with hope. Cullen knew she could not believe him, not entirely, but she needed to in this moment. So he allowed her to cling to him, and kissed her when she lifted her face to his.
She tasted of tears and elfroot. She tasted like home. He relished in the feel of her fingers threading in his curls, the sharp pinch as she bit his lip, all in a desperate attempt to get closer. His armor was discarded in a frenzy, pieces thrown carelessly to the ground. The door had already been locked, but Solona muttered something about privacy and waved her hand at the door carelessly. Shelves, were thrown against the door, barricading them in here and keeping everyone else out.
It wasn't the sweet moment he'd imagined. It was rushed and filled with a note of despair. It was all they had. It wasn't perfect, but it belonged to them. He relished in her muted cries, in the feel of her nails piercing the skin of his back, the sweat that pooled between their writhing bodies. She was Solona, and she was everything he'd ever wanted.
When it was over, when she rested against him languorously, he clung to her. She sensed his unease and kissed his jaw. "I love you Cullen."
"I love you too." He kissed her urgently, willing this moment to burn into his memory.
He couldn't remember how long it took them to get dressed, Solona helping him into his armor with fastidious affection. The entire process underscored by a rising tension. They faced the people waiting outside the room with raised chins.
Alistair was the farthest from the room, his knuckles bloodied by an apparent attempt to punch through stone walls. His entire expression was mired in misery, eyes filled with equal parts accusation and betrayal. Solona flinched when she saw him, and her fingers slipped from Cullen's grasp. It hurt, Maker did it hurt to feel her pulling away from him, but he squared his shoulders, staring down the disapproval that he could read in Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving's eyes. Greagoir merely shook his head with a sigh, resigned to let matters lie. Irving's eyes settled on first Solona, then Cullen, conveying sorrow for both of them. The pair of them knew as well as anyone that the relationship they'd consummated was doomed.
Solona went to Alistair's side, the hand she placed on his shoulder shrugged off. Cullen watched the man stalk out, Wynne following closely behind. Sten remained behind, watching the entire thing unfold with impassive eyes. Their goodbyes had already been said, with actions rather than words. After speaking briefly with Irving and Greagoir, Solona offered him a shaky smile, which he did his best to return.
"After." she stated confidently.
"After" he agreed.
As he watched her walk away, Cullen was certain that this was the last time he would ever see Solona again. And he mourned the loss for the next several years.
The next chapter will be during/after the events of DAI. And while I have romanced Dorian as a male Inquisitor, for this story, Dorian will be straight. Hopefully no one is overly offended by this. I just adore him, and hated that you could flirt like hell with him and not actually romance him as a female Inquisitor.
Please Review :)