Gah! Now I have writer's block on my other stories and inspiration on this one. Oh well, I am working and jumbling around whichever one that suddenly pops into my head.
Please understand that the author is most likely a weirdo. What I mean by that is this chapter is a bit darker than usual…well, maybe if you squint. :D
Rated M. I own nothing.
Enjoy!
OoOoOo
The day stretched long and silent between the pair. Solona was watching her hunter with interest. Captor would probably be more accurate. She mused without humor. All of her options seemed weighted to one side; that side was being forcibly taken to the Tower. A place she had sworn never to return too. Solona was not one who liked breaking a promise, more specifically, a promise she had made to herself. Irritation and grudging respect warred within her.
She still couldn't figure him out…and it bothered her.
The man before her trudged on with an air of confidence that had made her want to scoff after the tense moments of her initial captivity and his attack upon her person had cleared. Yet, there had been an odd sort of resignation in his eyes that piqued her curiosity. She was not remiss enough to have had forgotten that her curiosity was the very reason she was in this predicament.
Still, her mind had taken that look and turned it around in her thoughts over and over again. What had caused such a look? What had made his body posture whisper of defeat for the brief flash that she had been privy to? The templar before her had seemed so very much that, a templar. He had exuded the attitude of a true hunter when he had not paused in accepting nothing less than her complete submission; as made clear by her subjugation into the impromptu restraints.
And yet, he still came after me so diligently when he had been gravely wounded and his men slain. She had felt it again then, that small seed of respect and she had not dared to admit that there was admiration mixed into that tiny feeling as well. Had that fierceness been a result of his training or had it wholly been himself?
She still couldn't figure him out…and it bothered her.
Others, male or female, young or old, elf or human, and even mage or not; had always been open books to a mage that watched closely. She had always been such a mage. Even when she had been dragged to her gilded cage all those years ago, Solona had always been one to observe. Her first encounter with the Templar's had been an unremarkable affair, like so much else in her life. Solona remembered that they had come one bitter and cold winter morning, after the first signs of her magic had manifested itself. She counted magic as her reason and proof that notice was a very bad thing indeed. Notice had brought the Chantry after her.
Her eyes had flicked over her captor once more. There was a disquiet air around him that she wanted to understand. She was certain that it would prove useful later, but how did one go about charming such a hardened templar? In truth, she had not the slightest inkling about the ordeal. This had never been a situation she had been fortunate enough to witness before. Solona knew that everything failed without a plan. How did she plan for something she had never done before? Her intelligence allowed her to comprehend that anything she plotted for would be rushed and hasty at it's very best.
She had been pulled from her thoughts when he stopped abruptly in front of her. His hands moved to her pack and withdrew her water skin. She watched him without expression.
"Drink." He commanded with little heat as he unstopped the skin. Her eyes traced his face with same intensity that a child watched a strange animal that dared get too close. She held out her bound hands with the palms facing upward. Solona had expected him to place it within her hands and drink on her own. It came as a surprise when he kept one gauntlet firmly on the reigns and he outstretched the opening of the water skin to her lips.
Confusion had crossed her face before she could stop it. "I can drink on my own, Ser templar." She kept her voice even as she spoke to him.
His face could have passed for a mask of indifference and it made it hard for her to see what he was thinking. That had her unnerved. "Do you wish to drink or would you rather we continue onward?" Her eyes had narrowed slightly at his thinly veiled threat. She was slightly suspicious as to why he was even attempting the formality of being civil.
She still couldn't figure him out…and it bothered her.
For only a moment's time, her pride had warred with her want for a sip of cool and clean water. However, preservation was always high within a human, and her common sense dictated that she accept the offer. "Forgive me; I would like a drink, thank you." She opened her mouth to receive the liquid. Her gaze sought out the tale-tell markings of surprise on his face. Manners, it would seem, unnerved them both.
He took a single step forward toward her and tilted the skin to trickle some water down to her opened mouth. There was a tense moment where they watched each other wary and silent. The water on her tongue had pulled her away from watching his face. She had been unaware on how desperately she had needed a drink. Her eyes had shut against on their own accord and she allowed herself to feel a smidgen of happiness for a single moment.
Then the water had stopped and she opened her eyes as she looked questioningly at the templar who regarded her with quiet intensity. "More?" He asked lowly.
Solona opened her mouth to agree, but she had thought better of it. She remembered that there were not too many streams in this area and it would be wiser to conserve such a precious resource. Plans were made to be altered and a prepared soul was a fortunate soul. Solona had nearly scowled at the last thought. Her situation was describable by any word other than fortunate.
"May I see your wound now?" Her voice was neutral and she watched with dispassion as he took a swig from the water skin and placed it back in the backpack.
She waited with mild interest to see and hear his reaction. His eyes locked with hers again and Solona had found that once again they were waging some sort of silent war. Her study of him would prove useful for a later escape. Silence stretched before them and it hung heady with decisiveness.
"Are you concerned for me, Mage Amell?" His voice was colder than her spell of Winter's grasp.
"Yes." She replied with stark honesty. She watched the surprise flash across his face. Solona knew that expression well now. Surprise was a powerful weapon for a patient mage and Solona was nothing if not patient.
His gaze had narrowed on her. She knew his anger as well. However, his anger made her magic sing against her will. The song of her magic against his energy only served to push the gap wider between them. Solona understood that he was truly templar through and through. Any form of magic from her would only prompt another smiting. She knew better than to suffer an unneeded smite.
Solona was vaguely aware of a sense of disappointment when he did not respond. He had chosen instead to walk again. The reigns chaffed the thin skin of her wrists and Solona winced at the discomfort. Since their first chat, this templar had not been overly harsh with her. What has changed?
She couldn't figure him out…and it bothered her.
OoOoOo
She was planning something; he was sure of it.
Cullen was not certain as to what her plot was exactly, but her desired result was not hard to figure out in the slightest. He understood that she wanted to escape him, only a fool would think otherwise and Cullen had always prided himself on not being a fool. So her second inquiry as to his health had been met with understandable wary.
He was her hunter, and he had captured her almost too easily. It was a fact that haunted him from the moment he had bound her hands. His eyes wearily watched the every distant horizon. True to form, the horizon receded as he approached it. His life in the Chantry had taught him many things and Cullen held all of these lessons as irrevocable laws. Every last one had been assimilated with the eager heart of a young and virtuous warrior. Even when he had later become a battle hardened warrior, the Chantry's teachings dictated his world.
Nothing would ever sway him from the rules of the Chantry. Cullen would never allow himself to be tempted into sin like the weak. There had been times, when the darkness of night crept into his heart, in which he had wondered if sin and mercy were not synonymous. Templar honor roared in his veins and the chant flowed freely in his mind. Cullen was a templar and his time as a templar would forever be an integral part of who he is.
She was planning something; he was sure of it.
Yet, when he had sought to throw her off balance by asking if she cared; she had turned the tables on him once more. Templar Cullen knew better than to trust the words of any mage. He had sneered at the ever-long stretch of road that loomed before them. She was an apostate. This very mage, who had followed behind him without sound or fuss, was an apostate. The templar in him demanded she be treated in accordance with her station.
Mages were dangerous and needed to be corralled for their own protection. It was only due to honorable men like him that mages had not harmed everything they held dear. It was because of templars that people outside and inside the tower, were kept safe. Did mages not understand the sacrifices templars' made to keep them? Cullen had willingly sacrificed a wife and family for them. He had sacrificed everything for mages like her.
Duty and bitterness had mingled within his heart at the thought of his slain men. His men had also sacrificed everything for mages and that included their very lives. They were buried in shallow graves in a Maker-forsaken forest. Cullen was grieving. However, he could not let his grief leave an opening for a sly mage like Amell. He had seen his fair share of death, but watching his brethren die was not something that ever grew easier. How could it? He was a man and only human after all.
Cullen understood why he narrowed his eyes when he stole a glance back at the mage. He was still furious over the sentence she had uttered hours and hours ago. It irked him to no end that she had even escaped in the first place. What soothed that anger was the knowledge that he had found her by the Maker's grace.
He had agreed instantly, at the first sight of her, with the Knight-Commanders assessment of the woman; 'There was nothing remarkable about the chit at all.' Still he was unable to understand how it was that not a single person could remember her. It was true that she was very ordinary, not unpleasant to look at, but she was no beauty. Yet, he had to acknowledge that there was something about her that seemed memorable. The templar could not place his finger on what it was, but he knew it to be there. This mage, he thought, she is…I don't know. But this apostate is different.
"Shouldn't we stop for the evening Ser templar?" Her voice floated around his ears and Cullen shook himself from the dangerous thoughts of his captive. His eyes had quickly scanned the surrounding area for a place to rest and spotted a small area of flat land behind a sparse smattering of trees. Cullen was disappointed with the lack of cover for such a position and chose to march them a bit further into the woods.
The days travel had not been as fruitful as Cullen would have liked. He was hindered by his injury, which he refused to let his captive treat again. Allowing her any access to a weak point would be similar to asking for death. It was a thought that was only spurred onward by her continued silence. Unlike the majority of his other 'hunts', Mage Amell had not so much as once attempted to annoy or seduce him. It was a fairly common ploy to try and lure a templar into letting a mage go through temptation of the flesh. Templar Cullen was sickened by even the thought of touching a mage more than was strictly necessary.
He held onto her lead when he dug through the backpack in search of the bedroll. Cullen knew better than to let his eyes ever leave her. Looking away would have only granted her an opportunity to escape, something he would not abide again. He had a templar's honor after all. It had not passed without his notice that the female mage watched him as well. Cullen understood what she was doing easily enough. She was either attempting to make him uneasy, or she was looking for a weakness.
She was planning something; he was sure of it.
With a quiet snort of disgust, Cullen had dropped the bedroll and next sought out the other gown she had stowed in the pack. His grip had tightened on her leash out of memory for the depths of cunning he knew her to be capable of.
"Sit down." His voice was hard and unyielding. He watched her eyes search his face again while her own was strangely impassive.
She complied, as he knew she would. A mage was not a match for a templar one on one; wounded or not and Cullen was among the best at combating apostates. Part of him wondered idly if she already knew that.
"I am going to untie you." He spoke slowly and deliberately. "If you move I will smite you." Cullen knew he did not need to elaborate on the threat; excessive words would only detract from it. They watched each other for a moment. When he was satisfied that she would not attempt any trickery, he knelt down and worked upon her make-shift restraint.
She had sat before him with a look of open curiosity and it had surprised him. Cullen warily waited for her to move, his muscles taunt and ready to spring into action. When nothing happened, he unsheathed his sword and moved the material of the gown over the sharp edge. The sound of the fabric ripping had been the only sound between them.
His hands moved with a startling affiance as he had shredded the dress into strips. He made sure to continual move his gaze between the task at hand and the mage. Still Mage Amell made no move to escape and Cullen was filled with a growing sense of intrigue and frustration. Part of him wanted her to test him. He wanted to take his anger out on her, but his steely discipline demanded that she provoke him first. Cullen knew he need not regret his treatment of her if she disobeyed him and attempted to escape again.
"Give me your legs." He stated gruffly.
When she didn't question him, he had felt the urge to clench his jaw. Cullen did not know what to make of this. By everything her actions spoke of her, she should have already tried to escape at least a dozen times. He was certain that she was as conniving as a human could possibly be. He had to shake his head to clear the thoughts away. Deftly he used a few of the strips of cloth and tied her feet together.
"May I have some more water?" She asked him with fatigue evident.
Cullen pondered her request. "You may… after I have finished restraining you." He stated bluntly. He waited for her to react and this time he was not disappointed.
"Is that really necessary?" Her calm tone was broken by the waspish inflection of her question. Cullen had very nearly smiled.
"Are you questioning me apostate?" He murmured quietly. He watched as she stiffened like prey that had caught sight of a dangerous predator. He had felt the swell of self-assurance then. Cullen understood that she was afraid. He relished it with vigor. She needs to understand her place.
Silence and her baleful glance answered his question. Cullen was gentle in tying her wrists behind her back. There was a second of remorse at the sight of her red and raw skin before it was replaced with a bored sort of tedium from having to restrain so many of her ilk.
When he was satisfied; Cullen removed the water skin from the bag and unstopped it. He noted with amusement that she had already opened her mouth for the life sustaining-liquid. It bothered him, however, that her eyes never left his.
She was planning something, he was sure of it.
OoOoOo
Solona drank greedily. She knew how parched her throat was by the way the water made it burn slightly before the coolness overtook the dryness. It was too soon for her liking when the water stopped and the templar took a long swig of his own. She had waited patiently all day and now her studying of him had been rewarded in the most unusual of ways. She would have laughed at herself for being so oblivious to the obvious fault.
She knew how to escape.
Pat of her wondered how he planned to keep them safe and rest at the same time. Hunting parties normally had a few templars for the very sensible reason of safety in numbers. There was no one to take a watch with him and while she was happy to look out for her own survival; she was elated at the fact that he would have to sleep and that would leave her with ample opportunity to escape him.
Solona knew he would take the bed roll, which would only be natural for any self-serving being. It had always been her experience that very few people held to their standards when away from prying eyes. She had seen such events, though different from this current situation, too many times to keep track of. It was an infallible truth that everyone has two faces. There would always be the side they showed to the world, and the real side that emerged when people thought no one was looking. Sadly for them, Solona was always looking.
When she watched him drag the bedroll over to her, she had thought nothing of it. It was only when he ordered her onto said sleeping mat, that she was perplexed. "You are not going to use it?" She attempted to stifle the morbid curiosity that surged through her.
If she was reading him correctly, he almost looked offended. "It is yours." He stated simply and Solona looked at him with near scientific fascination. "I wouldn't look for meanings that aren't there Mage Amell."
Her face morphed into a frown at his statement. "Why?" She asked slowly almost cautiously. She was not prepared for this sort of change in his actions.
"Why what?" His tone betrayed his impatience and want for rest.
"Why are you giving me the bedroll?" Her thoughts spun with possibilities, but all of them made little sense.
Contempt wormed its' way onto his features. "If you do not want it, I will be happy to take it from you." He intoned.
She felt as if she was on very dangerous ground. Solona understood that it could well be the case. She tilted her face up to study him better in the last dregs of sunlight. "Thank you." She stated only. She knew better than to poke a sleeping bear and her hunter looked ready to maul her at the slightest provocation. His body fairly screamed the warning at her. He had, however, nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement. It had been so minuscule that another person might have missed it. Solona understood the value of watching.
That was when she saw it. The way his hands shook slightly told her all she had been waiting for. Solona was a special mage. She had knowledge first hand of what lyrium did to templars. She had been the one that watched the old templar's slowly lose their minds to the continued use of a substance they were never meant to imbibe in the first place.
A fluttering of hope bloomed in her stomach and her mind had already set to work. She had not seen him with any lyruim. Her pack had only contained three of the addictive draught. How long until he succumbed to withdrawals? Solona had deduced easily enough that he was a templar that would not back down. Truly, had he been sent after someone else she might have been gracious enough to admire his tenacity. However, she had promised that she would never go back to the tower.
She knew how to escape.
It would not matter how closely he guarded her. It would not matter how hard he tired to fight off his own body. Solona knew that he was doomed to lose control of the situation. Time was a deadly weapon in the hands of a patient mage. Solona knew how to be patient.
She watched the templar stand guard over her prone form on the bedroll and smiled at the irony of the situation. He would need her skills to stay sane, or he would suffer the lyrium withdrawl in all its painful clarity. She granted that he would regain his memories after the experience because he did not look old enough to have suffered the permanent mind loss that came with extended years of exposure. She understood that his withdrawal would be exceedingly disorienting and painful though. Solona would bide her time for now.
She knew how to escape.