Author's note:
God. This was the hardest chapter I've had to write so far. It was brutal and painful. Hope it was worth the agony.
A great many thanks and shout-outs to the following people: Tokugawa Blitzer, ExcidiumHawke, Gil Shalos1, RBurger, AnneRene and Jeadin. Thank you for putting up with my tripe.
A small tidbit: for those who've read Little Women, I threw in a nod to Alcott's tale towards the end.
Also, despite this story venturing into AU territory, I believe I will be moving forwards to the in-game events pretty soon. One thing I would love to get feedback on is if you think this seems too rushed. Is there anything you'd like me to cover or see before we head in that direction?
Geronimo
A straight line may be the shortest distance between two points, but it is by no means the most interesting.
A putrid stench wafted into her face. As luck would have it, its odour matched her dreams. The truth smells, said a voice within, to deny is to lie.
Do you intend to sacrifice who you are for the sake of love?
No.
Why do you remain teetering on the edge?
I want to rescue him.
Is he worthy?
Yes. Absolutely.
Why? Because you believe he completes you?
I...don't know.
He does not complete you.
What?
One and one make two. One and one don't result in one. It is mathematically impossible.
That is irrelevant. Rationale does not encompass affairs of the heart.
Have it your way. But all aspects of yourself – the logical, the emotional, the absurd. They are all...you.
It's...I don't understand. That's not what they've told me.
Who is they? Remember father, remember him taking you to that festival in mid-spring? They were worshipping deities not sacred to the Chantry. A religion so much older than Andraste, enveloped with a culture and history that many could learn from. Do you not recall the coloured lanterns in the evening light, each shade representing a treasured fable? Was there not knowledge and beauty in synchrony? Was there nothing to be learned and no purity to be appreciated?
Remember the onion you brought from the market? Mother told you to throw it away? But its life had begun to sprout, and in your innocence you wished to preserve it. Father told you that you would both plant it in the ground together. How could you possible reject the elegant wisdom in his actions?
Father, in the white bed, not listening to any of us. His gentle fingertips swollen with inactivity. His breath ragged and choppy.
You are and will always be your own person. You aren't half of a whole. If you wish to share your life with someone, love them and treasure them dearly, but you are no lesser on your own. Live your life, Starbuck. Remember all the people you used to be, but above all else, be happy.
She awoke suddenly. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek. Unable to recollect her dream, and yet shrouded in an incomprehensible sadness, she beckoned humour to her side. What the devil was this monstrosity before her? It let out a guttural moo.
"I am looking at a cow's arse," she said, unaware that she was speaking out loud. Good heavens.
Evangeline sat up groggily. Beneath her palms, the ground felt strange. She was surrounded by scratchy, prickly shards of hay. Her mind waded briefly into her subconscious and then out again.
The animal clamored insistently. Good grief. Evangeline had never milked a cow in her short life. What time was it, exactly? There was someplace she was supposed to be.
Evangeline ran, fast as she could, out of the barn and to towards the perimeter of the village. She saw four figures ahead of her – that of Cullen's, Wilhelm's, the Mayor and another she did not recognize. The sun was almost high in the sky by the time she joined the small party.
The Mayor seemed to be addressing Wilhelm, and she placed a body between herself and Cullen in order to avoid direct contact.
"I will see to it that our posted guards double their watch tonight."
"We do not wish to impose," said Wilhelm, somewhat apologetically.
The Mayor waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Balderdash. She was rescued from certain death. If the woman insists on marrying the man she loves, then we should not deny her such. Besides, I believe the people of Shepard's Crossing could use a dash of festivity." And then, on noticing Evangeline's impromptu appearance: "Ah, I'm glad you could join us. Your companion here," he gestured in Cullen's direction, "has been kind enough to offer a thorough inspection of our defenses."
"Which need to be significantly fortified," said Cullen – his voice grave.
"The reinforcements from Brunswick will be here by the morrow." replied the Mayor. He glanced at Wilhelm. "How go preparations for tonight's celebration?"
As Wilhelm replied, Evangeline felt something pick at her hair. Instinctively, she turned around to see Cullen extract something in his hands.
He leaned forward as he fingered a shard of dry grass, and whispered in her ear. "Nighttime excursions in the barn, I see?"
"I was tired." she responded, her voice low.
"Were you avoiding me?"
Yes. "No."
"Pants on fire." But he was smiling.
Evangeline swiftly changed topics. "What did I miss?"
"Nothing much. The perimeter needs a lot of patching up. We're probably going to have to remove the wood and replace it with fresher lumber. This may take a week or two. Hopefully, Brunswick will send enough men to get the job done faster. I've told the mayor about the city we found, and that we don't know if there are more Darkspawn thereabouts." said Cullen as the other three men walked ahead.
"He doesn't seem too concerned," she noticed.
"True. But whatever that thing was...they seemed to revere her. It. Do you think it was commanding them?"
The hackles at the back of her neck rose up in frightening recollection. "Honestly? I think she's their mummy. I think they needed her to...well, make more of them."
"Which would mean that there may not have been many to begin with, since there were only three of them protecting her," recognized Cullen. "They were so desperate to bolster their numbers that they kidnapped two more women. And did you see the other two? Shorter, thinner. Maybe they were much younger than the Hurlock."
She grinned. He caught on quick.
Without warning, she suddenly found her hand in his. The simple contact of skin on skin electrified her more than ever and she allowed him to grasp it tenderly in the shock of it all.
"Can we please go talk somewhere?" he asked her softly.
For whatever reason, Evangeline was rendered mute. Cullen smiled to himself as he never thought that possible, and realizing that he had that effect on her bolstered his confidence a degree.
He nodded his head to one side. "Come on, I know someplace quiet where we can talk."
She allowed herself to be led by the hand. After a few minutes of silent walking, she looked up to find themselves in a walled section behind the armory. He took both her hands in his and pulled her nearer to him.
"Tell me what you said before," Cullen requested.
I don't believe in a Maker, but bloody hell, do I need one now. He gazed at her unwaveringly and she couldn't meet his eyes. With Stroud, it was much easier. He was playful, light. This...this seemed to affect her more then she could have possibly imagined. "She's the Darkspawns' mummy...?" she ventured with little hope.
Cullen didn't smile but moved a step closer to her. "No. Before. In the throne room – while we were fighting." He paused briefly; Evangeline could tell that this was difficult for him as well, but he seemed determined to continue. "And don't you dare lie to me, Evangeline."
She stammered. "I...may need a stiff drink first."
"I will get you that drink, and anything else that takes your fancy as long as you...uh..." his voice tapered off into silence.
He's closing his eyes and leaning forward. Why are his eyes closing? Oh. Okay. I'm toast. He reached out and put his hand around her neck and through her hair. And then he drew her closer and she found her eyelids closing as well. His forehead touched her own and he seemed content to remain that way for several moments as his breath quickened.
"I smell like cow poop." she said suddenly without opening her eyes.
"I know. Let's smell like cow poop together."
"We can't. I'm a...and you're a..." she began.
"I'll leave the Order. For you, I'll do anything."
Evangeline's eyes shot open. "That's not...right." She pulled away quickly. His words – they didn't fit. Everything he'd examined and deliberated earlier lay in direct contradiction to his current self. So what was this, then? Lust? Love? Love could make fools of the most learned men.
Her eyes roved over his countenance. "If you look inside yourself, that's not what you truly want."
He seemed pained as she moved away and instinctively stepped closer. "I know what I want."
"Cullen...you can't – "
Before they could say anything, something short hurtled towards them and latched onto Evangeline's leg. She teetered and looked down in surprise to see a tear-stained boy clinging to her. She walked backwards – in an endeavor to break free, but he seemed to hold on all the tighter, getting dragged across the grass as she moved. Not quite adept at dealing with children, she stared at Cullen, helpless.
He crouched down and gently turned the child's face to him. "Are you alright?"
Snot trailed down the child's nose. "He's after me. He's horrid."
"Who?" Cullen wiped the boy's tears away with his hand.
"My brother. He's a bully." He finally let go of her leg.
Evangeline's shoulders dropped in relief. "Is that all? That's easy." The child looked at her as she went on. "Just step back, take a deep breath, count to five...and lunge full force at his eyes. Once you've impaired his vision, he'll be defenseless. He'll never see it coming."
Cullen quickly raised the back of his hand to his mouth in an attempt to stifle a surging guffaw. He had to place one hand on the ground to prevent himself from toppling over. "You can't..." he said as he turned his head away from the young child. "...tell him to attack..." He finally caved and landed on his rear, laughing quite hysterically.
Old-man laugh, noticed Evangeline with affection. Way to go, you. Way to let loose.
The boy scrunched his face thoughtfully and scrutinized his hands. He seemed to study them in wonderment – regarding them as potential weapons rather than for typical use. "Poke his eyes out with my hands?" he said as he held them up.
"Uh...no," said Evangeline, reconsidering. "Pretend I didn't say that."
"But you did." said the child.
"Okay – fine! I did say it, but I was wrong." She huffed wearily. "Look, let's just go find your brother."
He lowered his brows in grave concern. "My brother said I let my sister into our garden, and now there's water everywhere. He's mad at me. Ma's going to hit the roof's what he said."
Cullen hefted and carried the boy, whose name was revealed to be Sol – after Soldemar, a warrior chieftain turned-Grey Warden during the fourth blight. Evangeline trudged alongside the pair – evidently somewhat worn already. Cullen shot a cursory glance in her direction. Her eyes were red-rimmed, quite possibly from a fitful night's rest in a barn, no less, and her typically pinned black hair was mussed and barely in place. She did reek somewhat of manure and faint darkened spots of the previous night's battle with Darkspawn speckled her cheeks and brow.
And yet, in all her unkempt disarray, she was still beautiful. His compulsions towards her dove beneath her exterior, of course, as there were things that she said and did that betrayed a wilder nature he'd not quite witnessed in another being. That wasn't to say that she didn't have her failings. She could be flighty and impulsive. Sometimes maddeningly so. If she was never raised among a family that loved and cared for her – those that leapt in to save her from herself – she might very well have gone her own feral way.
And she could be – to put it diplomatically – a little abrasive. Cullen had always found himself wondering why someone as beautiful as Evangeline only seemed to attract the attention of a few admirers. Granted, there were frequent moments when heads would turn and eyes would covet when she entered a room, but she walked with eccentric, lengthy strides, and possessed a gamine demeanor that could have been off-putting to some. And then, acknowledged Cullen, she seemed to give little consideration to artfulness or discretion when she spoke.
But ultimately, she was herself, and had little patience for facades. During the instances where politicking was demanded of her, only Adric and he seemed to notice that the effort physically sapped her of her usual vigour. Shoulders would droop a degree, her eyes would dim and she became increasingly susceptible to aggravation.
But Maker help him, he loved every inch of her. How could he possibly not? She saw and drew out the best in him, and when he failed to recognize it, she would force him to on punishment of her wrath. The more time they spent together, the more uncomfortable it was becoming to be apart. He was not wracked with torment at temporary separation, but he was less patient, more irritable. And more importantly, it was as if the world was less colourful.
"See?" cried the boy as pointed to a small garden. "My sister's in our garden."
A pool of growing water had begun to transform the lush grass therein into a goopy, soggy, mess. Several men were attempting to divert the water from the house by digging furrows in the water-laden soil.
"Maferath's balls," muttered Cullen as he took a page from Evangeline's book and cursed without remorse. "You hit a cistern. How did you...?"
"I didn't hit my sister. I don't have one. I went digging for bones and then all the water came up – poof!" explained Sol, gesturing wildly with his hands.
Evangeline turned and looked at Cullen blandly. "Templars to the rescue?"
Cullen gently placed Sol down and rolled up his sleeves. He exhaled. "Why not."
The sun had begun to dip towards the horizon before the crowd had managed to rescue Sol's home from its wet fate. Evangeline was certain that only a whittling knife could peel the many layers of grime that covered her skin. As soon as the job was declared complete, she made a beeline for the cool waters of a running stream. She dried and dressed herself, and with an appreciative sniff of her no-longer-cow-poop-smelling armpits, she trudged towards Elgyn's home to seek the comforting solace of dry sheets and a soft mattress and pillow.
She climbed in through a window in order to avoid the bustle within the living-room. It fluttered in animation as a group of Delphine's female relatives gave it their all to make the weakened – yet rapidly-recovering Delphine – the prettiest bride hereabouts. Evangeline smiled at the induced nostalgia. It was only about two years ago that Annette, Claudia and her Elena attempted to make her presentable for mother's salon. Up to the moment when Bunty had made his illustrious entrance, the evening had been tolerable.
She lay an exhausted head against the pillow and began to drift off.
Something thwacked at the window. She shut her eyes tighter. She was so tired that she must already be dreaming.
Thwack.
Considerably aggravated, she shot up and yanked the sash up in anger. She stared into the round, beaming face of Sol.
"You again!" she exclaimed.
He placed his little arms on the sill and began to heave himself inwards. Evangeline gaped at his audacity. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Why aren't you dressed yet?" he asked as he sat beside her on the bed. He started to smooth down his formal suit as he made himself comfortable.
"Because I'm tired and I want to sleep."
"Aren't you supposed to be there?" he questioned.
It was true; part of the reason for this celebration was to thank the two Templars for their courage. But Cullen was there. And surely he would accept their gratitude on her behalf as well. She remained silent.
"The tents and all are set up. They look pretty." Sol reached up and began to stroke her hair. "You don't smell anymore."
Annoyed as she was, she found the gesture irritatingly endearing. "I washed."
"Where's your dress?"
Evangeline glared at him. "So this is what you do when you're not digging tunnels halfway across Thedas? You bother people with these inane questions?"
Sol removed a small pouch that was attached to his person and pulled out a slice of warm bread. The scent of garlic and melted butter caused Evangeline's mouth to salivate. She gave him a hesitant look. "A vandal and a thief. Are you trying to bribe me? Because it won't work."
Sol reached in again and pulled out a recently-baked dumpling. Then a strawberry tart. And finally, a slice of rum cake. Each time he presented an item, he studied her face expectantly. Expectant for what, wondered Evangeline?
"Will you dance with me tonight?"
Unaware that she had already stuffed half of the garlic bread in her mouth, she sputtered. "Wof?" Annette, in the background – looking aghast. Manners – Evie! She quickly brought a hand to her face, chewed and then swallowed. "I...only dance with one person." And then, upon reconsideration. "Well, I suppose I did dance with one boy. But only a few times."
"Who did you dance with all the time?" asked Sol.
"My sister, Elena. When we had to go to festivals, we'd sneak off halfway through and people-watch. And then we'd dance together. Whichever way we wanted to." She held out an open hand and nodded at the warm dumpling. "Now don't be a miser and share that with me. I haven't eaten a bite since last night."
Sol broke it in half and offered it to her. "I brought you food," he said pointedly.
Evangeline nodded. "That you did." She leaned forward and peered at him very directly. "Now why, out of all the pretty girls in this entire village, are you hounding me?"
"Because you look at me when you talk." he said, matter-of-factly.
"Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I've quite settled in for this evening."
"So are you going to just sit here and cry?" Sol thrust his little finger into a nostril and began to pick his nose.
She smiled uncertainly. "I...no. What makes you think I want to cry? I just want to sleep."
"I want to dance."
She waved a dismissive hand in the air. "So go dance with someone else."
"But only you dance the way I like."
Evangeline let out a loud chortle. "How would you know? I haven't danced since...well, now, I can't remember."
"What are you waiting for? You should have fun."
She scowled at Sol. "Stop being so insightful, you precocious thing."
"What?"
Fine. I'll bite. "If you really must know, maybe I am a little sad."
"Why?"
"I want something really badly. And it's there for the taking, if I want it. But the...this thing that I want, it isn't ready."
"I ate a horrible apple once. It was sour. Ma said it wasn't ripe."
She smiled broadly at him. And there it was. Beauty and wisdom in one spectacular creation. She cupped her chin in her hand. "What do you propose I do then, Soldemar?"
He shrugged his shoulders in nonchalance. "Wait till the apple's ripe, I guess. Are you going to eat the cake?"
She held the cake out of his reach. He flailed an arm out in frustration, but she didn't relent. "What if the apple never ripens? What would you do?"
"I'm not going to wait for it. I'm going to dance. I don't care if you come with me or not, I just wanted to ask. I'm going to dance either way."
She relinquished the rum cake.
The wedding itself was a quick affair. The betrothed pledged their I-dos and succumbed to a hopeful, rapture of applause and well-wishes. In the aftermath that followed, a band took their assigned places as percussion, strings and brass instruments began to liven the air around him.
Lanterns and candles graced the linings and tables of the large tent. A lot of careful preparation had gone into tonight's festivities as people hoisted the cloth canopy up hours before, decorated the tables with wildflowers and translucent, coloured ornaments. Cullen had his misgivings about this night; especially in the light of the Darkspawn attacks. But he had seen to their defenses personally and the village guard was doubled.
In addition to that, Cullen was never one for chirpy social events. But this was significantly less formal, and the villagers seemed eager for ceremonial proceedings and the joviality that followed. Huh. Maybe she was right. Maybe he needed to let loose. At least a little. He poured himself an ample cup of whiskey, and as its warmth began to course through him, he could feel his muscles uncoil.
She eventually showed up; contrary to all of his predictions.
Cullen was prepared to weather this event without her. Evangeline was evidently quite exhausted, and as much as he'd needed to continue their conversation, he was aware that she needed some space. To rest, recuperate and possibly think things over. He hadn't expected to see her until the following morning. And then, when she appeared – in a cream, somewhat-loose fitting, dress several inches shorter than what was traditional – just below the knees, he couldn't keep his eyes off her. She wore her hair up, as per the norm, but had allowed for some slack that betrayed a femineity he was not accustomed to. She wore no rouge, no blaunchet-laden foundation, no fancy baubles or jewelry. But of course she had to add her own deft touch of rebellion – she had marched to the floor barefoot. He watched her, unaware that he was beaming, as she picked up a cup off some random table and guzzled its contents.
And then it hit him it like a boulder.
Whoever had persuaded her to come to the dance must have been someone far superior – in appearance and merit – to himself.
A time-honoured verse began to play as he sat down, resigned to his fate. After the newly-married couple took to the floor, several others followed suit in organized succession. Cullen polished off the last of his whiskey. Being in the intermediate stages of inebriation, it took him several moments to search for her partner. She was clearly dancing with someone. But...either they were nonexistent or were significantly lacking in stature. He staggered to his self-punishing feet to catch a peek.
As each couple assumed such well-rehearsed steps, he could not – for the life of him – locate him. A minute later, his eyeline lowered a fraction and finally the saw the form of the seven-year-old boy. He sank back into his chair in a relieved humour. Sol. She was dancing with Sol. But she didn't seem to be having much fun.
Being of noble rank, she was evidently accustomed to the ritualistic, yet passive, maneuvers that encompassed the long-established, newly-wedded score. But she appeared bored, as did her much, much younger partner. Perhaps when Sol became disinterested, he could take over.
The melody concluded. He stepped towards the floor before a swift movement out of his peripheral vision caught his attention. Blessed Andraste, it was Nerys. She was such a sweet girl, pretty in all that was dainty and feminine, that it incurred in him a sense of remorse for not being able to reciprocate her feelings. But, Maker forgive him, he had no intention of cavorting with anyone other than Evangeline. His palms grew cold and clammy. He sluggishly searched for a way out but was unintentionally cornered by several noisome young men behind him. He let out a soft, yet panicked, whimper as he swiveled around.
All of a sudden, his memories jogged back to a guiltless time. Evangeline, dodging Stroud as she hid behind moving cover.
A woman, shrouded in a bouffant headdress, and an embellished, pouf-like gown swept by him. He ducked behind the ornamented dancer and escaped Nerys' notice.
After the first few slow dances, Cullen had managed to hide behind a raucous family. He kept a close eye out for Evangeline and a wary one for the every-ready Nerys, but found neither. He flicked a few breadcrumbs off his thin, white lapel and initiated this nerve-wracking vigil. A fresh whiskey bottle at his side – he sipped at it for fortitude's sake. Neither Sol nor Evangeline lingered amongst the crowd. He made a solid effort to remain well-hidden from Nerys. The matriarch of this family he'd employed as cover was a rather wide woman. A brood of at least three flocked to her side.
Every two minutes or so, Cullen conducted a cursory examination of that which lay behind him. He had to admit, despite the consumption of one bottle of rum and now a second bottle of whiskey, Nerys' presence invoked a fear that compelled him to shoot straight for a privy. Look, he told himself. She's a decent kid. But let's face it, she's more suited to a life of security and stability. Not one of clanking swords and the heat of battle.
Is that what you wish to expose Evie to, asked a voice?
No. Once Evie finally understands, we'll make a new beginning. Hopefully one that doesn't involve violence.
Cullen twirled the near-empty bottle in his hands. All philosophical musings aside, where the devil was his Evie girl?
So this is what feeling tipsy was like. He was certainly not slight nor skinny but it seemed to take only three drinks in succession to slacken his judgment and allow him to entertain new possibilities.
Cullen failed to notice a swarthy, older man take a seat beside him.
"If only they knew what they were dancing to," muttered Cullen's elder in delight.
Cullen turned a plastered head in his direction. "Wassat?" he asked.
"Have you ever subjected yourself to Rivaini music, boy?" The man, his raven hair flecked with streaks of grey, offered a superior grin in Cullen's direction.
Cullen scratched his head in what he believed to be thoughtfulness. "Been there once. Not long enough to appreciate the culture."
"See those numbskulls?" gestured the older man to the crowd on the dancing floor. "They're dancing like some stagnant Orlesians. Too slow. Too ritualistic. Not enough emotion. And Delphine's father is from Rivain too. What a shame."
"It's a wedding. It doesn't get more emotional than this."
"What backwater isle were you raised on, boy?"
Cullen remained unaffected. He held out a shaky hand. "Cullen." he said, introducing himself. "Templar and considerably unlucky in love."
"Trent," said the elder as he offered his own and chuckled. "And aren't we all."
Cullen held up a wobbly bottle in Trent's direction. With a knowing grin, Trent clinked his own against Cullen's.
"There's two parts to this song, you know," launched Trent as he resumed his observation of the dancers. "Partners aren't supposed to be that close nor prude as a rule. And there are male and female portions to this song."
"Prude?" mumbled Cullen.
"Conventional. Traditional. Boring. Leastways, that's what my dear departed Idris would say."
"You lost your wife recently?" asked an empathetic Cullen.
Trent snorted. "It seems recent. But if we're keeping record, it's been almost eight years to the day now."
"What was she like?"
Trent eyed the floor in recollection. "Bit of a fireball. Reminded me of a horse I had in my youth. Couldn't tame the ruddy blighter, but once you proved how much you loved the darned thing, it was putty in your hands." He chuckled as he drank more liquor from his cup. "Well. Maybe not complete putty. The alluring aspect of it was that it allowed you have your way, while simultaneously having you believe that you were in control. Or maybe I'm reading too much into it. Maybe that's the nature of love."
"I...wouldn't know," said Cullen with considerable self-pity.
Trent didn't seem to take notice. Instead, he'd looked away slapped his thigh with enthusiasm and cried out. "Now that's how we used to dance it!"
Cullen traced his line of sight. At the edge of the classical cavorting, stood his Evangeline and Sol. She glugged something and then tossed the container aside. The pair stood a few feet apart. The heart of the breathy, rhythmic music seemed to seep through to her bones. Sol appeared reluctant at first. She seemed to relinquish her movements to carefree abandonment. Sol scanned the crowd for the disapproving glances of his parents. Admonishment not forthcoming, he allowed his limbs to mimic Evangeline's own and the pair began cavorting without a care in the world.
The song ended quickly and Evangeline and Sol disappeared amongst the crowd.
"What do you mean – how you used to dance to it?" Cullen asked Trent, perplexed.
"A lot of Rivaini traditional songs are a tad...controversial. I suppose if I were to narrow it down, some are pointedly provocative. What you've just heard is a tamer version of – Andraste, preserve me – could it be?" Trent almost roared in his excitement. "Now hush up, boy, and listen to this one. Watch as those prancing fools have no idea as to what they're moving to."
Cullen finally caught sight of Evangeline and her new dance partner. Sol remained seated in her lap as she swayed slowly with her arms about him, and somewhat sadly, to a tune. He was surprised that she had taken to him so. She didn't seem overly fond of children, yet here she was, her cheek rested against Sol's brown hair. As the song's somber tone grew in crescendo, she seemed to be mouthing words that he couldn't discern.
"What? What's so number about this special?" Cullen shook his head to clear out the fog. "I mean, what's so special about this number?"
Trent eyed him with a wisdom that only age could elicit. "I swear, some of these Ferelden barbarians will dance to anything. This one, boy, is about a man who's had to leave everything behind to go to war. But years after fighting – he finds out that he's returned to a home that's twisted beyond recognition. His homestead no longer upholds the law nor tolerates do-gooders, so they run him out of town." Trent took a sip out of his chalice. "Your friend seems content to sit this one out. Perhaps she's aware of its weight."
"My friend?" said Cullen in astonishment.
"The girl you keep looking at, boy." Trent let out a derisive snort. "I may be a geriatric old lout, but I'm not senile. Look, do me a damned favour and ask her to dance. It's not as if you face some serious competition. Well, not in the near future anyway."
"Uh...if she wanted to dance, she'd have sought me out," explained Cullen.
"In the beginning, Idris never chased after me," recalled Trent. "Knew that the stubborn mule loved me, but she was far too proud to admit it."
Cullen gave Trent a skeptical glance. "So how did you...?"
"I waited, I suppose. Some things are worth waiting for. In the end, she was the one who sought me out."
Cullen gazed at a bouquet of white orchids; attempting to process Trent's words. Maybe Trent was right. Maybe he needed to step his game up. He pressed his lips to his bottle and chugged. After all, he didn't know if he'd have the gumption to do this otherwise.
"How should I – " he commenced before being interrupted.
Trent shot him a cantankerous expression. "Ask a simple question. Be direct."
Cullen chuckled in disbelief. "Surely it can't be that easy."
Trent shrugged. "Only if you want it to be. But you may have missed your chance. I can't see your lady friend anywhere."
Cullen quickly directed his gaze to the crowd. Trent was right. Evangeline had slipped away again. He squinted and saw the diminutive form of Sol approach the minstrel and her accompanists. He rose and navigated the crowd in order to follow the child.
Cullen remained no more than two feet away and overheard the boy talk.
The songstress paused as the instrumental portion of her tune proceeded sans vocals. She leaned in to hear Sol speak. "Can you play this one?" Sol asked as he whispered something into her ear.
She seemed a mite shocked. "Are you sure? The tempo's quite fast. It's not...exactly newly-married material."
"S'okay," persisted Sol. "You can just play the other bits. She said you don't have to sing."
"Who did?" questioned the perplexed minstrel.
"Nobody. Just the three songs that go together and we promise we won't ask for nothing else."
The woman conceded. "I suppose there's no harm in...well, alright, child. Just the three though, okay? And only after we're done with the next two."
Sol gave her captivating and impish grin which she couldn't help but return.
You cheeky devil, thought Cullen, as he watched Sol maneuver past the throng. Cullen maintained a reasonable distance behind the boy in slow pursuit.
As Evangeline hung up the third lantern to the crabapple tree, she stepped back to observe her handiwork. In the stillness of the night, with the coloured lanterns against the starry sky, she let her guard down and her eyes grew somber. She gave a grim smile as she realized that she had often caught Asogen looking out the ocean with this very expression.
How could you possibly be smiling at a time like this? Don't you feel the least bit remorseful?
Of course I do.
You can't walk away from all of this, Evangeline. You run from everything.
She remembered something Asogen had said once: "There's a distinction between running and walking away. Some men will stand and face danger. There's a touch of naivety, fear, the lies you tell yourself to follow through. And great courage. People like that. They love a hero.
"Then there are some who will run away. People can't abide a coward. But they fail to recognize that fear makes weaklings of us all. And then...then you have the man who walks away. He holds little regard for glory and battle. He is finished with them both. So he puts aside his weapon and turns his back on it. He steps away slowly, with no concern for his life, and leaves the fools to their blades and blood."
Being a Templar seems to muddy the lines between protection and murder. I have to leave before I'm unable to make that discrimination.
Fine. But what about Cullen?
He is not ready to leave. You can see it in his eyes. If he left now, he'd hate me at the end of it.
But you love him, don't you?
So much that I have to let him go.
And what next? You go back to Alec?
He and I...that chapter's over.
But what do we do now?
Evangeline turned to see Sol climbing up the gentle slope of the hill towards her.
Now we dance.
Still mired in a buzz from the drinks he'd consumed, Cullen found that he had to keep a close eye on the path before him. The hill wasn't steep, by any means, but his navigation was off kilter. As he crept behind a copse of birches to watch the pair dance, his conscience pricked him. He felt like a bit of a voyeur. Had he been sober, he'd have been terribly aghast at his actions.
He'd never quite seen anyone dance like that before. In contrast to the lumbering, yet precise, movements underneath the canopy, Evangeline's was paced faster and so much livelier. Sol, too seemed to be a quick learner, and the odd couple would snort with laughter as they attempted to execute awkward maneuvers with their limbs. Finally, the music from the tents below paused, but Sol kept dancing much to Evangeline's delight. And then, as it resumed, he gave an excited little hop.
"It's the song we asked for!" he cried.
"Okay, now remember, this is going to be much faster, so you're going to have to try to keep up with me. Got it?" said Evangeline.
Sol nodded rapidly. He spun around to look at the people below. Once the tune had commenced, Sol's face fell. The crowd, unaccustomed to the quick tempo, quickly trickled off the pavilion.
"They're going to stop playing if no one's dancing!" wailed Sol. Then he leapt forward and seized Evangeline's hand. "Come on – let's go down there."
Evangeline snatched her hand back. "Oh no. Not with that lot watching me. You must be off your rocker."
"But you said we should dance however we want to and not care about what others think," he gave her a morose, plaintive gaze that he'd clearly refined over his short life.
Evangeline scowled. "Must you be so literal?"
"You're chicken."
"Damn right I'm chicken. They'll make a comedic routine out of us."
Sol's feigned melancholy vanished. Evidently it had little effect on her. He folded his arms across his chest. "What's the point of telling me all that when you don't do what you say? All you're doing is pretending."
She glowered at him. She wondered if this was how her sisters felt when her arguments had been sound and irrefutable. She breathed out and declared him victorious. "Okay. Fine. But let me just another drink first. Maker knows I'm going to need it."
Sol began move his arms and feet to the quick tempo. The melody seemed to infect and possess his little frame. For several moments, Evangeline glanced at the disapproving throng that stood on the sidelines. Maferath's arse, they were not enjoying this one bit, were they? And yet Sol, already a proficient artist, bounced about in perfect rhythm. He placed his hands on his hips and moved them from side to side like she'd taught him earlier. He winked.
Evangeline rolled her eyes heavenwards and laughed loudly. Oh what the hell.
Geronimo.
She leapt into it head-first with her eyes closed. She let the beat pulse its way through her ears and into her mind. This was no gentle song; it was ice and fire, it was life, it nudged and eventually tugged her into its soul. It told her that sorrow was inevitable, but so was joy. The trick is, crooned the music, to let the good bits light the dark.
Elena cavorting artlessly alongside her. Claudia flirting shamelessly with the next boy in line. Annette looking on with displeasure. Mother holding her tight to her breast. Bunty galloping across a dance floor like a force of nature. Asogen reading portions of the Qun out loud. Adric's devotion for Peter.
Her heart sang as she opened her eyes and saw that three people had joined their small party. They looked to both Sol and Evangeline for guidance as none of them had ever frolicked like this a day in their young lives. The older and more conservative crowd tutted at this revelry.
Evangeline surveyed the bystanders for more victims. Nerys was leaning against a tent-pole with an amalgam of awe and denunciation. Evangeline pranced towards her and yanked the blonde girl onto the floor.
"What are you doing?" she protested.
Evangeline shook her shoulders and slid her feet to the beat. "Work those hips, Nerys!"
"What?" Nerys paled.
"Come on, don't pretend you don't want to." Evangeline winked at her just as Sol had earlier. "Let the rebel loose."
Nerys bobbed her head lightly.
"What the devil do you call that – a nervous twitch?" Evangeline gestured at her own body. "The entire thing, woman! Move like you mean it!"
Wilhelm summoned the courage to join the growing group. "I...uh...might be able to help with that. Come on, Nerys." He grasped her hands and started to coerce her into moving. Nerys relented with a demure yet dazzling grin.
Evangeline whooped.
As she looked around her, four more people trickled in. Their eyes shone in gaiety as they waded into the moment. A younger girl, no more than eight, sidled up to Sol. Being the precocious imp that he was, he turned and wiggled his bum at her. She reciprocated the action. The pair locked arms and spun around in dizzying circles.
"Looks like you lost your dance partner," said an older man who stepped in. "The name's Trent." He began to mirror Evangeline's motions perfectly.
"You're from Rivain!" she laughed.
"This music is in my bones, lass." Trent slid his feet from side to side. "I'll probably regret all of this tomorrow morning but, my heavens, it feels amazing right now. I wish my Idris could see me making a fool out of myself."
"And what would that make me?" asked Evangeline mischievously.
Trent chuckled. "You're right. Let's stir things up a tad. Devil take propriety and shove it up his sodding arse!" He pivoted deftly in place. "After all, we're the ones having a ball unlike those sorry stiffs over there." He jerked a thumb in the direction of the still onlookers.
And then, something caught his eye and he paused momentarily.
"Don't stop now," urged Evangeline. "We're just getting to the good part!"
"Keep dancing, lass," he said as he patted her arm. "Save this one for me, I'll be back in two shakes."
With partly lidded eyes, she danced in place while waiting for Trent's return. A pair of feet stumbled into frame. She waited for them to move, but they remained as rigid as stone. She lifted her gaze to find the coloured face of Cullen before her.
Taken completely by surprise, she froze.
Why had she stopped dancing, wondered Cullen? It's you, you blundering imbecile. She'd just as soon fling herself over a waterfall than cavort with him. "I...uh...I should probably go. Left feet. Two of them." He spun so as to leave when a tanned arm materialized from the growing crowd and shoved him back to his original position.
Evangeline was rarely ever self-possessed, but she was accustomed to being in control. She had mostly made peace with her ponderous decision and the consequences thereof. But Cullen's sudden appearance knocked her resolve to the floor like a house of cards. Damn him.
"You're not dancing," observed Cullen in apprehension.
Evangeline attempted to move her body but all efforts at coordination misfired. "I didn't know you could dance. Or that you wanted to." she said.
"I don't...I mean, I do. It's just that I've never danced like this before."
"When was the last time you did?" questioned Evangeline.
"I don't really remember. I think it was when I was a child."
She considered him, dubiously. "I don't think you have two left feet. Anyone who can dispatch two Darkspawn in the matter of a few minutes is not as huge a klutz as he would have someone believe."
"There is a difference," he argued.
She inhaled deeply. "So are we going to stand around and ponder the various degrees of your potential clumsiness or are we going to dance?"
"Uh..."
Good grief. She needed an ice-breaker. Where logic ends, absurdity begins. "Say: Geronimo."
"I...what?"
"Geronimo. Say it." And upon further consideration, "But with feeling. You have to say it like you own it."
"I fail to see where this going," he noted.
"Like this – Geronimo!" And she suddenly broke out dancing as she raised her hands in the air.
He tapped into his rapidly draining reserves of courage. Let's do this. "Geronimo!" echoed Cullen loudly. And then his heart sang along to his moving body.
Evangeline raced from the pavilion once the minstrel had begun the slower numbers. Her determination to leave him, someone so precious and dear, had started to fracture. He'll hate you for it in the end. He's not ready to leave, that much is clear.
"You can lead a horse to water," she mumbled to no one in particular.
She approached the darkened abode that had become her temporary home and ventured into the guestroom to begin packing. She lit a lamp in the corner and leapt in shock as the flame illuminated a figure sitting on the bed. He sat at the edge of the mattress, leaning forward with clasped hands before him. He regarded her with a blend of pain and longing.
Cullen crossed the room and stood mere inches away from her. Heart thumping with surprise and the proximity of his person, she had to fixate on moving curtains to still this unstable situation. Breathing almost status quo, he spoke before she could.
"I have loved you since the moment I clapped eyes on you."
Aaand there goes the breathing again, she thought as her pulse skyrocketed.
"Look into my eyes and tell me you don't feel the same." he added.
"I...can't."
"Then tell me you don't love me."
"Can't."
"Can't or won't?" he demanded.
She began to shake her head. "I should never have – "
Before she could react, he pressed his lips – neither gentle nor rough – onto hers. It was so wonderfully acute and intense; there was that sense of ice and fire magnified a thousand-fold. Alive. Was that an apt description? He seemed to drink her in, and she did all she could to prevent her knees from buckling. Hold the line, cried a rapidly diminishing inner voice.
He pulled away slightly, breathless. "Geronimo," he murmured, as he relinquished a loving smile.
Evangeline couldn't help but laugh.
And then, they collided into each other again. But this time she had completely yielded to his warmth and kissed him back with a passion almost equal to his own. His hands wandered from the small of her neck slowly down to her lower back. Hers were slowly fumbling for the buttons of his shirt. Finally unfastened, she ran her fingers tenderly along his stomach and chest. She then pressed herself up against him and allowed him to unlace the back of her dress.
As her dress and his shirt tumbled to the floor, he let out a soft, impatient moan. She wore nothing else save for her underthings, and there she stood, his impulsive, feral creature. His best friend and soon, his lover. His fingers floundered about struggling to undo his belt without much success and the pair chuckled as they tried to unbuckle it together. Free of his cloth trappings, he found it rather entertaining that she strove to avoid staring at his masculinity below.
She was breathing hard with closed eyes as he ran his fingers from her face down her neck and started to slip her undergarments off. His fingers left behind an electric trail like nothing her senses had ever felt. He led her to a small table in the room, picked her up gently and sat her on it as he tenderly guided her legs around him. She let out a sharp breath of air as he pushed himself closer, and the gasp further fueled the fire inside him.
A loud rap sounded at the door to the bedroom.
The pair froze.
And there it was again. "Ser Cullen?" called out a voice. It was Wilhelm.
"What!" said Cullen, almost shouting.
"I heard noises and wanted to make sure you're alright."
"We – I'm fine!"
"Are you sure? It sounds like you're in pain," persisted Wilhelm.
"I'm not. Really. Just...um...indigestion."
"Okay." said Wilhelm. "I ate too many dumplings too." And then he was gone.
"I can't do this." muttered Evangeline suddenly.
"What? No." cried Cullen. "I'll be gentle. I promise."
"Us. This. You're not ready."
"I'm the one who would know, don't you think, Evie?"
"You'll hate me forever. You're not ready to leave them. I know you're not. I couldn't bear it if you hated me. I'd rather see you with someone else."
"Evie...I could never hate you. Screw the Templars. We could have something real. Not many get this chance."
She regarded him with sad recognition. "The Cullen I know, the real one, he would never have chucked aside what he once believed so strongly in."
"You don't agree with their tenets either. Why are you trying to make me stay?" his voice was tinged with confusion and a modicum of sorrow. "We can make this work. I swear I'll be a saint. I'll never hurt you and I'll let you win every argument. And anywhere you want to go, I'll be by your side."
Evangeline gently stroked his temple and cheek with a somber smile. "Cully Wully. You can't even stop arguing now."
He pressed his forehead against hers and chuckled.
She slid off the table. "But I have to go."
"Please." he begged. How had he let this happen? How could they have gone from that to this? His voice came out hoarse. "Please. Stay. Evie."
His soft tone pierced her soul and as she attempted to dress herself, her eyes grew moist and the flood began.
"Don't," he said as he placed a hand on the table to steady himself. "You can't."
He stumbled to the cold floor as she walked out.