I thank you all for the reviews! You have no idea how much they mean to me. I hope you have an enjoyable experience reading!
Ok just to explain a little, Cullen is going to start going through withdrawals here so his attitude is going to shift just a bit. Keep in mind he is not suddenly going to fall head over heels for her; now if you were reading closely, you will remember that Solona is not a expert herbalist at most she would be at the rank of improved herbalism that you get at level 4 so the most potent potion she can make is standard lyrium and health poultices as opposed to the lesser. So when I previously mentioned her using one of the more potent I meant the standard strength. Because of that, the effects of the lyrium are not going to last as long as they would with say a potent lyrium potion which I am taking artistic license to say is one full dose.Now, keep in mind that Solona only alludes to having witnessed the befuddled older templars on occasion. While she believes that she knows exactly what happens, she in fact does not. If you get confused send me an PM and I will explain it to you in more detail, otherwise….
Rated M, I own nothing.
Who loves Cullenx Amell? That's right….I do.
OoOoOo
Cullen fought the growing urge to snap at the apostate. She had yet to go to sleep even though he had told her to do so twice now. Twice, his mind hissed, and she willfully disobeys. His mouth was pressed into a grim line of dissatisfaction that bordered on odium. He had not succumbed so much as once, this evening, to the foolish notion of looking at her. There was simply no need for such a frivolous diversion, which would allow the mage an opportunity to speak to him, to be indulged. Cullen was a very determined man and he knew for a fact that she did not have the ability to break his resolve.
He knew this mage was cunning.
He blinked hardened eyes at the stretch of inky blackness before him. Cullen understood that a lone Templar out in the middle of this untamed wilderness stood very little chance of guarding his captured prize if opposition should arise. They were cloaked in the velvet darkness because a campfire was too risky, to put it mildly. Cullen knew all about tactics and locations; both of which he was loathe to relinquish. His thoughts had never strayed far from the question that plagued his every waking hour. How quickly would she turn against me If the opportunity presented itself?
He straightened himself when he realized that he had started to slouch a bit from the ever constant weariness that stole parts of his will away like a thief in the night. Years of training and experience carried him now. It was all of his hard work, all of the blood, all of the sweat, and Cullen's sense of duty that shrouded him from the bitter doubts that slithered in the back of his mind; they needed to be quelled.
She shifted from her awkward position on the bedroll, and Cullen reprimanded himself for allowing his attention to wander off of the deadly creature laying not three feet away. The creature with the hazel eyes that stared at him with such tenacity that he scorned them immediately. He gritted his teeth as memories flashed unbidden through his mind of his latest capture. He abhorred the fact she had saved him and not joined the fray when the blood mage had murdered his templar brothers. He was disgusted that she brought out the wicked points of his temper. He viewed with rancor her seeming calmness and the fact that she did not employ the usual tricks for attempts to gain freedom. He knew what she really was, hidden behind that innocuous face; she was an evil-minded mage and it was his duty, nay, his privilege to bring her to justice.
He knew this mage was cunning.
He bore feelings of such malice toward her that it shook him. The templar in him howled to the Maker of her evils and her wretchedness. She was mage; the cursed dark beings that wove songs of destruction that echoed in the hearts of men. His newest ensnared apostate rubbed the Chantry raw by even existing. Cullen was overcome with feelings of the morose nature because has she chosen not to escape, he never would have been sent after her. Had he never been sent after her, the templar knew his men would still yet live.
He despised the way the song of her magic still played softly on his energy. He doubted she knew that her magic teased his templar senses. Cullen wanted nothing more than to silence the swelling hum of her enchanted nature because it made it impossible to ignore her. He was too disciplined to truly ignore her, for she was a threat to everything around her. Cullen was a determined man and he forced himself to quell the unbidden want for lyrium that danced upon his tongue begging to be quenched. He hated that she unintentionally dominated his thoughts.
The man in him whispered softly, with feelings that rivaled the sweet song of her magic, that subjugated human before him was not the black-hearted monster that had slain his friends and brothers-in-arms. Cullen the man was baffled at her lack of ploys and diversions. What damned him the most was the fact she had saved him. The man in him pleaded that she was human and perhaps she deserved a modicum of gentleness. Surely he could spare her a moment of kindness as thanks for his life? But there were certain things that Cullen could not do. He was a templar out here in the wilderness as he watched the mage in his custody.
He was puzzled far beyond what would have been acceptable and he knew that. He loathed mages and all they stood for; and then she stumbled upon him and made him remember what it was to be human. To be human and not an instrument in the holy war against magic unsettled him. Cullen had forgotten what it meant and he was bewildered that a mage of all things had sought to remind him.
He knew this mage was cunning.
OoOoOo
Solona had awoken to the rough nudge of an armored boot. She knew immediately that her watchman was the culprit. She gazed at him with slight irritation, for she had been far more considerate in when she had roused him the previous morning. The mage already had the knowledge that manners unnerved her fine captor, and so she sought to test the waters of his mood. She needed to know if he was already starting to regress back into the lyrium withdrawals, or if she would have to wait longer. Solona never minded exercising her patience for she had all the time in the world. A few days to her were negligible.
"Good Morning, Ser." She broached softly.
The hard and unforgiving eyes of a Templar stared back at her with mute distrust. Solona had all the confirmation she required. He was still well within the bounds of his own mind it would seem. She vaguely thought it admirable that he guarded himself so well. A few tense moments of staring were abated when he gave the barest hint of a nod in acknowledgement. She gave a genuine smile of encouragement, small though it was. Her eyes hooded when she saw him narrow his own amber orbs at her display.
She gracelessly picked herself up off of the bedroll and knelt beside it. Her bound hands grasped the edge of the luxury and rolled it tightly for she had intended to stow it away in the pack. Her sentry had other ideas and held out one hand in expectation. She placed the bedroll in his hand and he made a noise of irritation. Solona watched as he grabbed her leash instead with his other hand. How odd. She mused in confusion. Her eyes sought his out and she was met with the same conclusion as before, he was well within the realm of sanity, but he had acted out of character and it sent her mind into a dizzied spin.
The pangs of a long denied stomach yowling with hunger forced her to place the formidable task of understanding the templar, aside. Hunger won over curiosity as was it's right. Solona attempted a look at the glaring foreboding man in front of her. She was aware that they had no food nor had they attempted to gain any since they had met. Solona wondered briefly if the templar knew how to forage or hunt; the thought was discarded rapidly as it was extremely unlikely he had survived so long without at the very least a basic knowledge of the acts.
She arched one brow at the templar's stomach's answering call. "Shall we find food to break our fast Ser?" she asked clearly amused.
The said male stared at there for a very long heartbeat before he chose to reply. "Yes. We do require rations." His mouth thinned into a terse line. "However, what is most vital is water."
Solona nodded her head in agreement to the plan, for she did approve of anything in the way of preparing for the future. "If I remember correctly, there should be a stream no more than an hour's walk from here to the north." She already knew what he was thinking. By going to the north, more than the northeast, they would add some time to their journey and it could be a trap. Solona discreetly kept her thoughts to herself. She would have readily pointed out that it served her no purpose to deny herself water. She was a wise woman in her own rights and she knew the value of silence.
"Should you try to escape…" His threat hurled through the air like a spear. "Returning to the Circle of Magi will be the least of your concerns apostate." He spat her title like a curse. She was smart enough not to take offense to his statement. She knew he was trying to rile her into a disagreement that could escalate into an altercation. Fits of rage already? He hasn't been that long without a dose. Her mind confided to her innermost worries.
Horror dawned swift and cruel upon the young mage. Her mind flurried about as her eyes darted to his face. He could not be that old, could he? He could not have been that long upon the lyrium. Had she already miscalculated? Solona scolded herself for a haphazard plan such as this. What else could have explained why he angered so quickly? She hurried to stand worry and concern etched deeply in her face. This was not the time for a cool mask for she had to know how long he had been slave to the Chantry. If she had been originally correct, then his withdrawal would be two to three weeks at most. However, she admitted as her heart lurched, if he had been on it for several years…
Maker, she had not planned this well enough.
She looked pensively at the templar. Her body showed resignation and agitation, she knew it. If…he was older or had taken vows younger than she had first anticipated; she had no way to know how long the withdrawals would actually last. The mage had formed an assumption in her mind that recovering from lyrium would be a kin to recovering from a bout of poison. How could she have been so foolish? Solona understood that this could progress in a far different fashion than she had hoped. She had been prepared to sacrifice most of her magic to feed the broken mind of this templar, but this was too soon for her to have recovered the majority of her magic from the multitude of cleanses. Solona had watched him imbibe a full lyrium potion and if that had only lasted him little over a day; then how much of her magic would he need? How much would be too much and bring him back from the void of insanity? The uncertainties tussled with her thoughts in growing frequency. There was so much she did not know about lyrium withdrawal.
Maker, she had not planned this well enough.
Memories, strong and sorrowful, breeched her decent into the depths of self-pity. She had witnessed the old and feeble templars ' pain and crippling loneliness as they wandered the path of broken memories combined with madness. The young mage had been moved by their plight, but being part of the background meant never giving in to a moment of human compassion. She had stood there mimicking the statutes of Andraste as the babbling men called out for phantoms of their past and broken dreams. Solona drew a quick breath and held it to calm herself. She regretted, for the second time, pouring out the lyrium to hurry the progress of his madness. She had condemned him to a fate as bad as the tranquil, even if the period of time was remarkably smaller. For the briefest moment her eyes stung as she gazed at her captor.
Maker, she had not planned this well enough. She was only human after all, but her mind taunted her for she knew this was exactly the reason she did not take risks.
OoOoOo
The mage was acting strangely and Cullen focused his energy; ready to spring upon her should she turn into an abomination without warning. He noticed, with worry, that her deep and watchful eyes were full of emotions that he had never seen come from anyone; directed at him. He wanted to snarl at her to look away or demand what she was plotting, but all he saw were her ordinary hazel eyes glistening. For a moment he had been certain she was near tears.
Cullen did not know what to make of that.
Unease danced inside of him and mingled heavily with his gnawing stomach. "Are you ill apostate?" He coldly asked. Cullen was a man who knew his prey well, but not his one, and he felt that this could be a trap. His templar training screamed that this mage could already be demon possessed. That same training brought to the forefront of his mind all his experiences with abominations and blood mages. The screams of his men ghosted in his ears as he stared at the Mage called Amell.
Her eyes snapped away from his and she looked at him again with the same detached awareness she had possessed since their first meeting. "I am well." She tonelessly replied.
Cullen did not believe her for even one breath of time. "Truly?"
Her back stiffened and she gave a surreptitious tug on the restraint which he held. Cullen's fingers tightened around her lead out of reflex. "Yes, of course, Ser. Why would I not be?" Her face was the portrait of an aloof exterior.
Cullen did not know what to make of that.
They marched dutifully forward in silence until they heard the sounds of running water. Cullen's body was weary and his reserves of strength were fading. At the first sweet sound of rushing water his pace had quickened and he had taken a stumbling apostate behind him with all the haste he possessed.
"Could we, perhaps, slow down?" The request from his captive caused him to look back at her for a moment. His thoughts were muddled from lack of sleep and water. He wondered in confusion why he had put the deadly creature at his back. He sorted his thoughts and promised himself that he would never let her be at his weak point again. Why it had not occurred to him that she could have harmed him from such a pivotal position, he did not know.
"You will be able to rest soon enough." He bit out angrily. Cullen was frustrated at his inability to focus and desperate need for water. It had been so long without the life-giving liquid that anticipation ran hotly within him.
"Please!" Her cry halted him mid-step because it had been followed by a whimper of pain. Cullen slowly turned to face the mage, who in stared at her wrists.
Cullen watched her warily as he came closer toward her. He could see the discomfort on her average face and his steely resolve crumbled slightly. His gauntleted hand reached out and gingerly moved the strap that lay across her wrists. A large angry red welt glared back at him with skin that was peeling and small droplets of blood where the abused flesh had given way to the hard leather. If he had been privileged to still have been in possession of his manacles, she would not have suffered this small amount of pain. It disquieted him to have hurt her. Even if she was an apostate, a cursed being of the Maker's anger, and a conniving being; he did not take particular pleasure in being cruel. He was cruel only when the situation warranted it, and she had been docile since her capture. Something in him rebelled against the proof of his indifference, reversible though it was.
"You should have said something." He muttered angrily at her. His gaze turning scornful and harsh.
She looked at him in frank disagreement. "I did." She stated, tilting her head to the side and her face angled to look up at him. Cullen felt that same something in him twitch as the first sweet strains of her captivating magic brushed across his senses.
Cullen did not know what to make of that.
His silence prompted her to continue. "If you recall, I told you that my restraints where chaffing my skin on the first night we started traveling together." Mage Amell stated blandly, but Cullen caught the hint of wry amusement hidden in her words.
The templar detached himself from the situation and pushed the growing familiarity with this apostate to the depths of his mind. He resented that she made it sound as if they were companions instead of hunter and bound prey. He was an instrument of the Maker and she played the song of Thedas's downfall. The mage before him was dangerous and deadly. How many times have I had to remind myself now? He pondered with alarm.
"Come along Mage Amell." He commanded quietly and once more she followed him, though he had been considerate enough to slow the pace to one that was more manageable for her. Why? He could hear the question as clearly as if Knight-Commander Greagoir was standing right next to him. She is just a filthy apostate. More useless than moss that grows upon the rocks. She is less than human, regardless of what she claims! Years of teaching, years of dedicated study and practice rigidly erected themselves in his mind. Cullen knew the Chantry was infallible. Mage Amell was not worth an ounce of consideration, but as the haziness started to cloud his thoughts again; he wasn't so certain about that fact anymore.
Cullen did not know what to make of that.
"Solona." Her voice cut into his muddled war of duty versus decency.
"What?" He snapped out at her in confused irritation. Cullen had considered her smart before for keeping silent and he wished mightily that she would choose to be so wise again.
"My name is Solona." She remarked conversationally. Her tone was above reproach and Cullen disliked that she further exacerbated the situation by acting civil. His jaw tightened at the use of her given name. He was a templar and she was a mage, therefore, the only logical thing to do was to call her by her title…Mage Amell. "What is your name, Ser? I don't believe you have ever mentioned it."
"No. I have not." He growled lowly in warning at her. A slight tug on her restraints forced a soft yelp from her lips and Cullen waited with baited breath as she grew silent. Cullen spied the cool running water with a flush of happiness and relief. He took solace in the fact that even if it came to the worst possible situation between him and his current predicament; he would not die from thirst. When the water skin was filled, and they had both drank to near bursting; Cullen had lead them off in search of food. The mage had been useful in finding edible nuts and a few trees bore fruits that he easily plucked and kept for later use. He felt satisfied at the knowledge that they would eat this night, even if it was not very varied.
OoOoOo
Solona was not pleased with the pitiable state of her wrists. So far, she had been vastly pleased to discover that he was not being gripped by the madness yet. She concluded that he had been in a foul mood earlier; most likely caused by dehydration as she herself was not acting as she otherwise would. It wore upon her to have to keep seeking holes in a plan that could not be completed due to lack of knowledge. She was very gifted in memory, and she knew from the scenery alone that they had come down from the forested area into the flat plains that bordered the Brecillian forest. It signaled that they were on the correct path toward Ostagar and Lothering.
She had strengthened her determination to see him through to Lothering, which possessed a Chantry that would see to the needs of her captor with relative ease. Solona had already decided upon this course of action, but it never harmed her to reiterate her plan. It was two part, the reason that she did this, one part was to help her find courage, and the other part was to remind herself that there was an end in sight.
She would never go back to the Tower. She would have a life that did not require her to fade into the background. Solona wanted a chance at a life, a real life, where there would be time to build a home and a family. Why didn't templars understand how much mages were forced to give up? Solona envied them for being able to choose their life; while mages were forced into a mocking form of imprisonment the Chantry had the nerve to call a safe haven for her kind. She was an ordinary woman and felt anger as easily as any other.
Still, anger had no place in her plans just yet. There would be a grim satisfaction when she eluded the hunters for a year, but not now. Not, when she was in the clutches of one such hunter who was as tenacious as a mabari with a hunk of meat. Solona had gotten ahead of herself once before and it had cursed her with a templar and the loss of her horse. She wryly wondered what had become of the dumpy cream mare. She noted with that her hunter's trembling had started again.
Three days later, Solona faced the conversation she had dreaded for so long. She had watched him try to sneak sips of the last precious vial of lyrium at eventide for that length of time. The young mage wondered if he thought the action would be unnoticed by her. It was a very offending thought for twice now; she and her captor had been forced to sleep rather closely to each other as his stubbornness had given way to reason. She knew he could not carry on forever without rest and he had grudgingly acquiesced to her subtle promptings. The mage had been amused when the templar had decided that tying her restraints to his own wrist as a means of preventing her escape. She knew better than to comment on the ludicrous thought process however, when he lay down next to her and they had slept as the only two people in the dormant grass of the plains.
"Apostate." The snarl drew her from her wistful fondness of that first night. Solona glanced up to find her still unnamed captor, whose face was painted in a mask of barely restrained fury.
"Yes?" She answered carefully void of any emotion except boredom. She composed herself while her mind had tittered that he looked ready to throttle her.
"Where is it?" He marched toward her with deliberate slowness that had her nervous and just the tiniest bit frightened.
She moved her gaze to look at his eyes, tilted her head to show confusion and widened her eyes just a bit to allow the look of confusion to be mimicked. "Where is what?" She laced her voice with false bewilderment.
Her captor bared his teeth at her and Solona thought that he looked very much like a crazed animal. "Don't play coy with me mage." He barked at her. His agitation had grown at her question. "There were three lyrium potions in this bag." She looked at him quizzically. "One was used four days ago, the other I have just finished, and now I cannot find the third." He hissed at her menacingly. "Where is it?"
Solona had seen it a thousand times before from the other female mages that had been caught by the templars in the tower. She furrowed her brow, dropped her gaze to the bag, and looked on in surprise. "I don't understand, Ser." Solona stated calmly, her voice coated with confusion.
Her captor hauled her roughly to her feet. She saw the glazed look in his eyes and the feverish flush of his cheeks. He is in withdrawal. She ascertained. Her mind played his previous symptoms against these ones with a mirror-image of results. She knew he was feverish; his hands shook as they gripped her bound arms, and he was incited easily into anger. "Don't lie to me!" He bellowed at her.
She trembled with fear in earnest now. She knew she could use her magic to defend him if it came down to it, but he would siphon off her magic again and then she would be back where she started. She understood that this was a vital moment and she needed to control the situation before it got out of her sphere of influence. "I am not lying." She lied. She pushed her voice to possess the calmness she did not feel.
"Liar!" He snarled and shook her. As her world rocked back and forth with his force; she saw that his face twitched with what she could only guess was pain. She very nearly smiled in relief. Pain held powerful opportunities that would help her stabilize his unraveling mind.
She channeled a bit of her magic, a soft sweet melody of reassurance, and pushed it into him. He stopped his physical abuse on her person. "Sh." She whispered soothingly as his muscles tensed and his face contorted in rage. "I'm just trying to help you." Solona watched him search her face. The last part had been almost the wholly the truth. She saw his face relax just slightly and she knew whatever he was looking for he must have found.
"I-I…" The templar looked at her with such pained confusion that, for a single moment, her heart ached because of it. "Where is the lyrium potion?" He asked quietly after some time. Solona lowered her head and stared at her lap. She felt damned one way or the other. She prayed that he could forgive her once he found out what she would do to him.
She would never go back to the Tower.
"There wasn't a third one." She slowly placed one hand on his arm and he flinched away from the contact. She had not wanted to lie to him outright, but she had to make him believe her. Everything she was doing hinged on him needing her, and she had to have that happen. Maker, forgive me. She prayed silently as she wove a net of deception on the fracturing mind of the templar.
His eyes glared at her once more and she took in the still glazed look of madness that clung to his haunted amber orbs. "Yes, there was. I know there was. I remember a third one." He stated through clenched teeth.
She shook her head at him sadly. "No, Ser, there wasn't." Her voice sounded to her ears like honeyed poison. Her heart hammered in her ears as she watched the seed of doubt take hold. She knew he was confused and unable to think clearly. She was certain he never would have assaulted her otherwise. Solona would never have called herself conniving until this very moment and she hated the coppery taste of disgust it left in her mouth.
He looked down for a moment and back up at her. She watched his hands tremble again and noted only half-aware that she had not given him enough magic to stop the physical symptoms. "I'm not certain anymore. I cannot remember things clearly." He rasped out in a voice that sounded lost and alone. Solona soothed him like a mother consoled a hurt child. She touched a hand to his face and murmured words of comfort.
"I will not leave you." She said with all seriousness. Her gaze caught the look of the man that stood in silent agony before her.
"No." He muttered starting to show more confusion. "I…have to take you back to the tower." He grabbed her hand tightly as if to keep her from running away. The templar in him regained temporary hold and she stared at him passively.
"I know." Solona cajoled quietly. "I'm not going anywhere without you." She could not leave him. She knew that already and though the task seemed insurmountable, she would stay by his side until they got to Lothering, where they would part ways and his addled brain would not comprehend where she had gone.
"You are attempting to trick me into letting you escape." He snarled at her, but it lacked the certainty he usually had. Solona was dismayed that he was more in control than he had been moments ago.
"Templar." She stated his title with exasperation and worry. "Have I tried to run away from you even once?" I don't deny I am trying to trick you. She thought sagely, she would not lie to him more than was needed. Lies were hard to keep track of and Solona hated loose ends.
His brow furrowed and he gazed pensively at the ground. She knew her words had struck true when he uttered "I still don't trust you."
"You will." Solona replied knowingly. He would trust her because he had no choice. She had drawn a hard line between them in her mind. She was an average woman and completely unremarkable in every way. She did not need to rush the madness anymore because her captor was caught in its' grasp with only the allurement of her magic to guide him…right where she wanted him.
"I might hurt you." He whispered forlornly and the evening moonlight lit his hair softly. Solona reached out and touched his arm once more in comfort. This time he barely flinched.
"You might." She conceded quickly. "However, I think it would be less likely to occur if you would untie me."
He snapped his head up and glared at her. "No." He thundered at her. Solona raised a brow in surprise.
"Would you condemn me to be defenseless against your training?" She asked guileless for the first time in their conversation.
She knew she had lost the argument the moment he reached for the backpack. She watched with mounting frustration as he pulled out the well-worn bedroll and spread it on the ground. The young mage uttered not a single word of complaint as he ordered her to go to sleep. She laid down on the meager padding from the hard earth and heard him start to take off his armor in order to lay next to her. They never touched because that was a taboo neither of them was willing to breech. She knew that touching an arm was a platonic gesture, but to touch at night while they lay next to each other seemed intimate, and she understood that would have been harmful to them both.
She would not go back to the tower; she swore it.