The Gilded Cage

A/N: I actually wrote this probably a year ago, and just forgot to put it up. I hope people will still read it, though DA2 is out ^^"

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or Bioware and anything associated

It drains him; this magical cage. It is strong and it sparkles like the moonlight, beautiful and delicate and touching to the eye; bewitching. It is deadly too, but its warning echoes softly in his mannered mind, barely registering. And its beauty speaks with the most convincing of voices and is all he can will himself to listen to. Its appearance is a stark contrast to the darkness that envelopes him, but it is magical, can make him forget and cloud his mind with dust.

Its colour of silvery blue… her eyes… forms a layer of mist across his senses and he is suddenly tempted to reach out and touch this beautiful motionless lightening. He dips a few fingers into the light and feels its soothing effects across his body. He feels power – is it? – surging through his limbs and a strange numbness enters his mind. His thoughts... gone. And he is thrown to the ground.

His armour makes a hollow sound as it connects with the stone floor and he suddenly feels very alone. Something is digging into the back of his head and as he turns he sees the scattered remains of another Templar's armour smothered in his comrade's blood. They haven't bothered to clean up the mess they have created he thinks. Rage consumes him, betrays him and he unleashes a devastating howl.

Then because of the abruptness in which she appears before him, he knows that she... it has been watching. "Something the matter, my dear?" She asks, with a face of mock concern. The expression betrays its disguise. But still he finds himself not entirely immune to its effects. Her beauty, though not physically with him confounds him even now. She steps closer and then like a vulture surrounding its prey, she circles him. With all his might of resistance, he forces his eyes shut and cries out to the demon: "Be gone!" And when he opens them her beauty is gone also, leaving only a small trail of deception.

"Amell..." he whispers and falls to his knees – ignoring the metallic clang his armour makes. She or the very form of her weakens him and he stifles tears of woe; though he knows no-one is there to condemn it. "Kill me now!" He cries "Stop these visions, this... torture! I-I command you demon..." The demon is gone but its presence is not; its startling eyes watching, always watching. He knows that his request has reached its demon ears; but also he knows that his pleading will not grant it. He is a puppet in the demons evil hands, its curled fingers sneaking in and tormenting and corrupting his thoughts.

Oh how he longs for the days where she was nothing more than a beautiful presence lingering in the corner of his sight; she a student mage and he a templar – the protector. Not a constant threat to his being, not residing in and corrupting his thoughts, not confusing his sense of duty. She... that magical bewitching creature, that mage, has been a constant distraction, a stain upon his life since their first meeting. But oh how he longs for her. No more.
The cage is slowly draining him of energy and he reluctantly succumbs to a slumber-less dream. And there he meets Amell for the first time; a memory. To be repeated over and over again.

Soft spirited footsteps echo down the musty hall. Everything seems normal where it not for the fact that his vision is not quite in focus, not blurred but not as clear as the original encounter. Like a fading memory the world around him is sepia and he is quite certain that if he were to open the windows and peer out he would not see the moonlit sky for he did not see it in the first place; duty had forbade distractions. He shuffles and the noise is smothered by his own modern thoughts, she is standing before him and he thinks how much younger she is. A girl of only 14 but yet her eyes are almost level with his and he realises that he himself, his form, is only few months her senior. His mind is entirely disconnected from his body as he is only the visitor here and cannot influence what is past. So his 15 year old self shuffles again and barks: "What are you looking at Mage?"

She may not look it but he knows what she is. To be a resident of the tower you must be either training to be a priest, a templar or a mage. She doesn't look as if she is yearning to spout tales of Andrastes noble death, and there are no women in the templar's – too emotional they think. So it is obvious. She has the potential for evil at her fingertips; and it stays hidden like a viper only to snap at the most crucial moment. But he is not afraid. Too bad then, that she senses his fear and playfully rests a hand upon the metallic sheen of his breast-plate. "I'm not looking at anything" she retorts while plainly staring at her own reflection in his eyes. He knows that proper etiquette dictates he should never hit a woman, but she is barely a woman and he begs that the maker have mercy on his soul as he shoves her away in disgust. "Templers exist to guard and protect. No fraternising." He says frostily, knowing that she is all too aware it is only a chime echoing from Gregoir's evasive rulebook.

It is as if she believes his tone seeks only to encourage her because she cheekily winks and mutters, "We'll see Cullen," before fluttering off down the corridor. No doubt to torment another sheltered Templar, his 15 year old self thinks, though the new found similarity of his ears and his flaming hair betrays his pettiness. He suddenly feels a red hot anger bubbling up inside him, just like it had back then; and it feels that he can do nothing but hate her, just like his lust had led him to... back then.

A cascading mist seeps through the scene and the corridor dissolves before his eyes. But it is only to be replaced by itself; this corridor is the same as it was back then, the same as it is now. Only older and younger all at once it seems; familiar and yet strange. She comes before him once more, the image of what she was when she left the tower; for good, he has to remind himself, she has not returned... only she claims otherwise. "Hello again" she murmurs in an echoing voice; a mockery of his thoughts, and it is only now that he realises he is a crumpled heap on the floor, entwined in his armour. She steps over his body, almost to boast of her dominance, and he feels himself losing to the tide that she provides.

He rocks back and forth and mutters "Be gone… Be gone…" and she smiles with an incandescent brilliance. But she complies...
And the next time she appears, she doesn't shine… or smile. Another trick. She has friends… She leans close to the shimmering cage. "Please believe me, Cullen," she cries.

He won't…

A/N: I wrote this soon after I played the Mage Origin for the first time. I felt so bad for Cullen! :'(
He's got to be one of my favorite Non-party characters, seriously. Please R&R! I'll be grateful for any constructive criticism