Agonisingly slowly, Cullen climbs the stairs that lead to Lavellan's room. He feels like he's a long way from home. A long way from Ferelden, from Kirkwall, even from Skyhold with its grand halls and high windows. Suledin Keep is narrow and dark. Everywhere the presence seems to linger from the demon Lavellan once killed in the courtyard.
He stops in front of Lavellan's thin, wooden door. Distinctly he takes a moment to remember the draperies in her Shyhold chamber. The balcony with its Orlesian double doors. The tall canopy bed. Then he knocks. Carefully. Politely.
"Who's there?" Her voice reaches him from behind the door. It's firm and clear. Very Inquisitorial. Maybe this is a mistake. It probably is. He knows it is.
"It's me", he says and then quickly adds: "Cullen." She wouldn't exactly associate the word me with him after all. Not anymore.
There is no reply other than a swishing sound, as if she is fumbling around with fabric or clothes. He waits for a while and the sound ceases but there are no signs of her planning to open the door.
"Do you want me to go?" Cullen mumbles, loud enough for her to hear. All of the sudden he's grateful. It must be that fate has decided to spare him. Catastrophe was always the only possible outcome of this visit.
He's already turned around to leave when her voice reaches him once again: "No, please enter. It's open."
He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, then convinces himself that this is not the end. He can still break out of it. He can walk in there and simply ask her how she's doing. He can say that he's come to... to see her for a bit. It would be for the best. Anyway, she wouldn't... She would never... Now with him, right? So it's no use. He can tell her that he's worried about her now that Dorian is no longer staying in the Keep. That he wants her to be happy. Yes, that's it. Happy.
He enters.
The room is dusky and not very different from his own. There is a bed, a lit fireplace and a couple of armchairs. He can see the silouette of a cupboard and next to it something that looks like a mirror. That is all. The bed is hastily made and covered with a green coloured blanket. She sits on top of it, cross-legged in an almost juveline posture that makes her look like a teenage girl. She's graceful with her light skin and her long limbs. Lithe.
Elven.
He grimaces at that.
She's wearing leggings and a short tunic, the same simple Dalish attire that Cullen is used to see her in. Her ears stick out of her short, pale hair and the markings (he can never remember the Dalish term) on her face shimmer in the firelight. She's much thinner than she once was and her left sleeve is tied together near the elbow to hide the stump of her missing arm. She looks worn and tired.
Even so, she's alarmingly beautiful.
She taps the fingers of her right hand against her knee, restlessly, as she lifts her head to look at Cullen. "Close the door, please."
He does, and then pulls out one of the armchairs so that it faces the bed. Without waiting for permission, he sits down. "Inquisitor", he says, proud to sound so collected.
She winces at the title. He expects her to point out that it doesn't apply to her anymore, but she just watches him carefully, eyes wary. "Commander?"
Cullen finds himself already struggling for words.
"Dorian left a few hours ago", he says. "For Tevinter."
"I know. He was here."
"Oh. Well. So are you... are you alright?"
She shrugs. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"I just thought... aren't you going to miss him?"
"Of course I'll miss him, but we'll keep in touch. And he won't be gone forever. He'll come back."
"I suppose you're right."
Not like him, Cullen thinks. Our enemy. Not like the one who truly left you.
She sits up a little straighter. "Why are you here?"
Cullen swallows. "I... I just wanted to make sure that you have everything you need. To be honest, it was Dorian who..."
Her eyes, still fixed on him, narrow. "Dorian who what?"
Andraste's flaming sword, he's ruined it now! She'll never go through with it if she finds out that it was Dorian's idea. Rage flows through Cullen, unexpected and hot, and he has to remind himself that he's not here for that. That he's not even going to try.
"Dorian..."
...has asked me to have sex with you.
"...is worried about you."
At that, Lavellan flashes a tired smile and a small hint of tenderness touches her face. "He asked you to watch over me?"
"Well... yes."
She laughs a beautiful little laugh, light suddenly glittering in her eyes. Cullen's anger immediately transforms into something else. Lust? Longing? He's not even sure which. He just knows that his chest aches.
"He probably asked everyone to keep an eye on me", Lavellan says. "He spoils me too much. But it's nice, you know. To have so many friends." She pauses and straightens her features. "It was good of you to come. Why don't you stay for a few minutes? We haven't..."
She hesitates and Cullen braces himself.
"We haven't spoken outside of the War Room in a very long time", she adds.
She's right, and he can sense what she's thinking: that it's his fault. She was very clear, back then, when she said she wanted them to remain friends. She told him that she would stay away from him for a while, to give him space, but that she'd always be there for him.
In that regard, she's never failed him. As soon as she found out from Cassandra about his lyrium withdrawal and the pain that came with it, she went straight to him and told him it was alright. She said he was better than the lyrium. Stronger. She even held him when he started to shake. Then she accompanied him to confront Samson, without question or argument.
But she didn't love him. Not like that.
He can still recall that very ordinary day when she walked into his office and informed him that they had to break their romance off. She was so terribly sorry, she said, but she'd realised that she'd fallen in love with someone else.
He had known at once of whom she spoke.
She was referring to him. The man who watched over her at Haven while she struggled through her fever dreams, before she became the Inquisitor or even the Herald. The man who had an answer to everything. The man who healed her wounded hand.
Cullen feels sick at the memory. "I know it's been a long time. I've been... I don't know. I just needed... well, time."
"Two years?" she asks.
He flinches slightly. Two whole years, and more. What have I been doing all this time since Corypheus was defeated? What have I been up to, other than wasting away?
"Apparently." He shifts uncomfortably. "So how are you these days?"
"I'm okay."
"No, you're not", he says straight out. "How are you really?"
"I'll be alright", she sighs.
"Dorian doesn't believe so."
"Dorian should have a little faith in me." She manages another smile, but there's no warmth in it.
"Inquisitor, with all due respect. The man we now hunt is also the man who..."
He ends mid-sentence. He can't make himself say the words out loud.
Her eyes harden. "The what? The man I loved? The man who betrayed me?"
"The man who betrayed all of us."
She falls back against the bed, legs streched out, and he can't see her face.
"I'm aware of that."
"He needs to be stopped, Inquisitor."
"I'm aware of that too. We'll find him. We'll stop him. We'll find a way."
"Are you sure?" The words come off harsher than Cullen intends. "You keep talking about making him realise it's wrong to tear down the veil. You say you'll convince him that the past can't return anyway, not the way he wills it. That is all well and good, but what if he doesn't listen?"
"We've been through this." Her voice is distant, thick with sorrow. "I've said I'll make him listen."
"And if you can't?" Cullen says.
She doesn't reply.
Clearly, he's here to push her. To crack open her wounds. It's not what Dorian intended, but maybe it needs to be done.
"Inquisitor", he says. "You have a responsibility. If nothing else works..."
"We've been though this", she repeats. She sits up again, abruptly, to look at him. "Is that why you're here? To convince yourself I'll be able to do what must be done?"
He doesn't know what to say to that. Why is he here?
"That too."
"The desicions we make together in the War Room aren't enough for you? You don't trust me to do the right thing?"
He shrugs his shoulders helplessly.
"Inquisitor..."
"You have no right to intrude on me here", she continues. "You have no right to ask me how I'm doing after all this time. But now that you're here - don't you dare Inquisitor me."
He has no right, is that it? He glares at her, anger beginning to build inside him. From her words, one could think that he's the one who's mistreated her when really it was her who broke up with him. Also, in comparasion to the man they're talking about Cullen is pretty damn perfect, isn't he? He would never have hurt her. He would have stayed with her until the fucking end of time.
"Sorry", he growls.
"Cullen", she says. "I care for you. This is difficult for me."
She might as well have stabbed him with a knife. He almost gasps for air as the memories come running back.
He remembers their seemingly harmless flirting at Haven. She made him uncomfortable in a good way. The best of ways. Then the attack on Haven happened and they continued talking at Skyhold, convincing each other how grateful they were that the other was alive. "Did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?" she'd asked and he felt his heart explode in wonder. It seemed unreal for him to find love, once again, where he'd least expected it. And she wasn't a mage. She was something else entirely. An Elven Archer. The reluctant Herald of Andraste.
Then one day they took a walk on the battlement and she said: "Cullen, I care for you." There had been an unmistakeable light of anticipation in her eyes. He had known, then. He had known that he was ready to begin again. Ready to let go off the memory of Hawke leaving Kirkwall with that terrorist mage who'd ruined everything. Lavellan wanted him and he was ready to give her everything. All of him. Once again.
"That's unfortunate", he hisses at her, "because I don't believe you. If you'd cared for me, you wouldn't have..."
He quickly shuts his mouth. Maybe she's right. Maybe he's being unreasonable. Maybe he's being unfair. She's tried really hard, in the past, to be his friend. He knows that. But it's not enough. It'll never be enough.
Her expression softens. "Oh, Cullen", she says in a tone of voice that makes him wish he was dead.
She pities him.
He's promised himself that he'll never give her any reason to pity him.
"It's fine", he says quickly. "You're the one with a broken heart. I just wanted to... see what I could do to help."
She sighs and nods, as if giving in.
Acting solely on impulse he rises from the chair to sit next to her on the bed.
"You can't fool me", he says. "I don't buy it. Not after what happened in the Winter Palace when you entered the Eluvians. Not after you met him again. You are not alright."
Again she sighs. Her shoulders droop and she covers her beautiful face with her right hand. "No. I'm not. Are you happy now?"
"Why would I be happy to see you unhappy?" He tries very hard to sound normal.
"Because clearly you're still mad at me for breaking up with you. You probably think this is just what I deserve."
Yes. Yes I do.
"Of course I don't think that."
"You can't fool me", she says with a sad smile. "I don't buy it."
"Ellana, I..."
"I'm sorry." She removes her hand from her face to look him straight in the eye. He can read the pain in her features. Traces of tears glimmer on her perfect cheeks. "I'm so very sorry I hurt you, Cullen. I know you deserved better. It couldn't be helped, but I want you to know that I'm sorry."
He nods, unable to keep his facial expression in check. His heart pounds harder than he thought possible. Somehow it feels good to hear her say it. To hear her acknowledge his pain. She has before, of course, but that was a long time ago. Maybe this is what he came here for. Closure. Yes, that must be it.
"I know", he mumbles. "And I'm sorry for you. I'm sorry that you got hurt. Please let me hold you. Maybe that'll help."
It'll help me. Maker, I need it.
She looks slightly taken aback at his request. Then, tentatively, she leans against his shoulder. His steel shoulder pad prevents him from feeling the contact and yet…
He feels.
Comfort. Attraction. Shame.
All at once.
He puts an arm around her shoulders and, as she slowly relaxes against him, listens to the wild beating of his heart. It feels incredibly good to be this close to her. Unwordly good. Divine. This is where he belongs. It doesn't feel at all like closure, but why should he care? He's lost everything anyway and that creature, that thing, has made it clear he does not want her. What harm can it really do then, for Cullen to hold her? Just to hold her.
She shifts against him and tilts her head to meet his gaze. She's so small and vulnerable with her broken heart and her missing arm, her body pressed against the metal in his armour.
Dorian was right, Cullen realises.
Someone needs to take care of her.
Someone needs to make her forget.
The idea lands in his mind and once it's there, it's like he can't stop himself.
His body moves of its own accord when he tightens his grip around her and raises his free hand to touch her face. Her cheek is incredibly soft under his fingertips.
Good thing I'm not wearing gloves.
Slowly and carefully he traces the pattern of her Elven markings. He remembers what she once told him and the other advisors - that the markings are a tradition stemming from a time when elves were kept as slaves. Even so, she chose not to have them removed. They're part of her Dalish identity. Part of who she is.
"Cullen", she whispers, her voice husky. "What are you doing?"
"I'm comforting you", he replies with a confidence he doesn't possess. He can feel his cock twisting in his trousers. Well, he's only human. "Does it help?"
Her eyes darken. They're still sad, still close to tears, but there is something else in them as well. Something she tries to repress.
"I'm not sure", she says.
"You're upset." His fingers caress her skin, following the curve of her neck. "Just be still. It's alright."
She leans heavier against him. Tears run across her cheeks and dampens his fingertips and he feels a pang of guilt for wanting her so badly when she's crying.
"I can't take it anymore", she says.
"I know."
"I keep... I keep asking myself how he could do that to me. He made me hope and then... everything turned out differently from what I'd hoped. I feel like an idiot for not guessing the truth on my own but really, how could I have known?"
"You couldn't." Cullen hides his fingers in her hair.
"He's a god, you know. My god. All my life, my people made sacrifices to him. What am I to do with that?"
"You can't trust a god", Cullen says, chosing his words carefully. "Not like you would a person. Gods have their own agendas. They don't care or feel the way we do. As divine creatures, they can and must put aside their emotions. That's what I learned in all my years in service of the Chantry, and I don't think your gods are any different."
Lavellan nods, slowly. "So he doesn't want me. What am I to do with that?"
His grip around her shoulder tightens even more as he clenches his fingers into the flesh of her upper arm. There's rage inside him now. Rage and combat and lust. They're barely doing anything and he's already hard. She's always had that effect on him.
I'm sorry", she mumbles when he doesn't reply. "Is it alright if I talk to you about this?"
He hates her for talking to him about this.
He hates her. He loves her.
"Of course", he says, "but I know of something else. Something that'll take the pain away."
She goes still in his grip. "What?"
"Isn't that... isn't that obvious?"
She stares at him, blankly. "No."
Cullen swallows and clings to his feigned confidence, keeping his gaze steady. "Considering it's me?"
Her eyes go a little wide. "You mean lyrium?"
He almost lets go off her. "Maker, no! Sweet Andraste, how can you even..."
She puts her hand on his chest plate to calm him. "Alright, I thought you meant..."
"I would never suggest that, not to anyone. I'm done, Ellana. I'm done with lyrium. I haven't used it in a long time. Not since... not since we last spoke about it. I swear."
He swears, but it's not entirely true. There have been times when he haven't been able to stand the pain. None of those times were recently, though, and he did manage to resist on that particular day not long ago. That day in the Winter Palace when she told them all about her encounter with the creature in the Eluvians. He resisted the call of lyrium despite having to watch her missing arm, despite the hurt in her eyes and the obvious wound in her heart.
He considered that night a sign of progress and he'll never forgive Dorian for sending him down this path once again.
Even so, it's too late to pull out. His pulse has began to tick like a restless clock. His mouth has gone dry. His entire body aches. There's no way he'll back away from this now. No way.
"Then what do you mean?" Lavellan asks.
He pushes her against him, gently but firmly, while he tilts her chin upwards with his other hand.
"Solace", he says.
