O Creator, see me kneel:
For I walk only where You would bid me
Stand only in places You have blessed
Sing only the words You place in my throat
- Canticle of Transfigurations 12:2
--
And then his lips were upon yours in a sob. You were pulled to him tightly, your upper body pressed up against him, bruising, bound by the sheer force of his strength. You shuddered at the breach, the walls that you built between you and everyone else, crumbled at the invasive touch. It was nothing like the kisses you knew before, real or in dreams. This was a tearing thing, all desperation and wanting, like it would rip your spirit from inside, turn you now with the demon whispers building up inside of your mind, the pressure and the insistence, telling you, screaming at you to give in before it's too late and he takes you on the stones in front of the fire…
But he doesn't. It ended just in time. Your breathing was ragged and his was the same. He let you go, and you stumbled back, knowing you should run or scream or do something. The screeches of the demons were a ringing cacophony in your head. Instead you face him and the two of you look at each other, like two wolves circling. There was a steady pulse at your temple, two, three. With each breath, the demons left, the hunger unsated.
"I am not her." You drew the words out of your body, slowly, with great effort. "I will never be." What she was…a stronger person, who could wield arms and wear armor, sway the leaders of the realm and fight the Horde, gather the troops, unite Ferelden. What youwere was something different entirely.
And his expression shattered like you were the one who forced a kiss upon him, not the other way around. You knew exactly why then, the answers that eluded you these past few months, with the tower burning down around you - why they had to chain Cullen to the walls to prevent him from throwing himself onto his own sword, why you saw Warin everywhere, why there were rules against the desires of templars for their charges, why youlived each day the choices you made, the choices you all made, footsteps circling paths in the tower…
--
You wondered before, if you were able to remove Warin's presence from you by wrapping yourself with another person's body. You just did not expect it to be Cullen, who kissed you as if he would swallow you whole, as a substitute for someone already gone.
You told him that you were not her and he said I know after a long time has passed. A weary understanding passed between you and him, that you were not what he so desperately needed and you knew he was the wrong templar, that you both pretended so well to not be walking shells of what you used to be. You wanted to tell him at least she lives, but you were not cruel.
You left him sitting by the fire. Desire waited for you on your bed, and demanded to know what happened between you and the templar, then cheered herself with the thought that you would reveal it to her eventually. You always do…
--
You asked Desire why she wanted you to join her. She inclined her head, thoughtful, and regarded you with those wide, endless eyes. I wish to live through you, to have a taste of what it's like to be alive. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled deeply, like she could breathe you in, your essence, all of it.
Taste. She closed her eyes then, mouth open as if experiencing the greatest ecstasy. The sweat of another's skin, how they reveal their passions. The sweetness of berries and cream, tender meat roast with sauce and mashed roots…
I will become an abomination and then you wouldn't be able to do all of these things, you interrupted her sharply, to remind her that you were still in your own body here, not her, and that templars stood at each corner, ready.
Oh I do not doubt, eventually, that is what we will become. She smiled widely and your warning did not concern her. But before that time comes I can conjure up many pleasures, and I wish to experience them all, before your mind is gone.
She reached for you, but you turned and you were running, towards your empty bed and the circular tower.
--
It is a fragile trust, between templar and mage, Wynne told you once.
Mages do not envy the templars their vows. And templars do not envy the prison of the tower.
So who is Blessed and who is Cursed?
--
I charmed a templar once. You had to crane your neck to look up at her, a violet blur who was doing flips and twists above your head.
Stop it, you told her. You make my head hurt.
She complied, floating downward, so that her eyes were almost level with yours, but her hooves still did not touch the ground.
All he wanted was to experience the lust of another's body. When Desire was in a pleasant mood she told stories about what experiences she had cavorting with human or elven dreams. So I made it for him. I gave him a candlelit chamber with soft sheets and flower petals. I conjured up an elven girl, like the ones he remembered in his youth, the untouchable ones, who mocked him and flaunted themselves in front of him.
You put your hands over your ears, because none of this ever ended well. Desire's stories always ended with a bloodbath or some sort of carnage. She catered to sensual pleasures, but always brought out the darkest thoughts of the soul.
….and he took her roughly and violently and in all the ways he wanted. She clapped her hands in delight. And it tasted so good, her fear, his pleasure.
But mages like you are the best treats, she murmured. You resist so valiantly and it is all the more delicious when you break. A matter of time…
--
Cullen does not apologize to you for trying to kill you or kiss you. You go about your duties, steps circles upon circles, circles that bind you to the tower, circles that lie: about your safety, the promise that Irving made, about the templars, who were supposed to watch over you instead of love you or hurt you.
Cullen was always watching you now, across the great hall at meals, at practice where he replaced the Knight-Commander from that point on. Those fool templars fell over themselves in an attempt to impress him. You could almost laugh. The red marks on your arms were hidden underneath your robes, unseen until they faded.
It would be so easy to end your life.
You saw possibilities everywhere. You could pretend to be demon-possessed and be cut down. You would step into the fire, and be cleansed, like Cullen said. You could hang yourself, like Simeon did. The tower ushered you in a maddening circle and you knew that when mages took their own life, the demons rushed in, and there was already so much death in the tower, soaked into the stones and the essence of it, or simply you were just too timid and too weak.
You writhed under him. Your knight who you drowned in each night, like holding your head below the cold waters of the lake, suffocated and gasping when he released you. Your bed warmer, Wynne told you. A warning. That was all it should be. No love should exist here in the tower. Mages who shared each other's beds like sport. Templars who were refused even the simplest expression of their needs. His mouth closed on the most sensitive spot where your neck joined your shoulder, made you moan with the feel of it.
They templars were warned of you and watched you and the mages are so few in Ferelden. You were not a child, playing in the river while the sun warmed your skin, while your mother called you her sweet one. You were not with Warin, who brushed away your tears, telling you in all sorts of ways that he loved you, without ever saying it. Those scraps of paper you cherished and burned.
You hold me without touch.
Words became cinders in your hands and ashes on your tongue.
You bind me without chains.
And you broke, under Cullen's gaze, Desire's demands, Warin's beckoning. Desire laughing in vicious triumph, and you broke, you broke, bound by circles upon circles upon circles, unending, and they led you to this place.
