O.o wow, just…wow I am so grateful for all the wonderful reviews! You are all amazing! Simply amazing! You make me blush!
Thank you all so much! I just wanted to make a quick side-note. I feel it is time for a much deeper look into Solona's character and why she thinks the way she does. I am sure some of you have noticed that I pay particular attention to the 'song' of magic. I think it is a very neat idea and I would like to think that like fingerprints every mage's magic is different. So therefore each song would be unique to the person and would be a helpful tool in distinguishing friends from enemies or hunting renegade mages.
Rated M. I own nothing.
Please enjoy.
OoOoOo
The young mage had come to realize that the lyrium withdrawal left her former captor trapped within the confines of his mind; which unfortunately changed faster than waves that crashed ominously on a well-weathered beach. At times she had found herself at a loss on how to adapt to whatever performance his demented mind concocted. She noticed with vast unease that the pious swordsman seemed to revolve around his true nature of a battle-hardened templar, and a heart-wrenchingly kind and naive man; who she had thought acted more like a love-struck boy. It had startled her greatly when she discovered her continuous reactions to the gamete of his personas.
It happened over and over again. There was an unrequited sense of kinship for Solona was near the edge of sanity. She had thought that only the templar would have encountered this problem, but he had affected her somehow. The mage had carefully reflected on the devouring of her lips under his. The image of his amber orbs colored with such intense desire for her flashed unbidden behind ordinary eyes whenever the temptation to blink happened upon her. Her heart thumped erratically in her chest every time she glanced at the deranged man from under her lashes. Why can I not stop looking at him? The minutes ticked by afflicting her with the worst sort of excruciating transience. Each sidelong gaze filled her to the brim with a peculiar partiality. She agitatedly ran a hand through her disheveled hair. The night sky was the only witness to her conflicted state.
She cared about the templar, far more than she should.
Solona's fingers snagged at the tangles in her long locks while she pondered over the course of events. What had made her tell him the truth? She was embarrassed to admit, and more than just a touch ashamed, that she had meant her parting words to the vestiges of his true self. She was not one for fantasy and whimsy but the honest expression of cherishment shining from his amber orbs had unraveled something inside of her otherwise stoic heart. It had crept upon her so slowly that she had failed to notice the unintentional snare until her heart was already captured and held tight. She ruefully confessed that to struggle against it would only magnify the wound she knew would come from all of this. Solona would not leave this encounter unscathed.
She winced at a particularly painful knot as she thought over the source of her frustration. It should have been at the templar. That would have been perfectly logical and she reveled in logic for all of its detached abilities. However, as most things had been since she had saved the Chantry servant, everything was illogical to the point of being a mockery to all Solona had ever valued. She had tossed aside her calculating nature to embrace a part of her she had tired adamantly to quell into nonexistence. Her eyes cautiously sought the sleeping form of her charge and she bitterly thought that fate would have been kinder if she could have explained these disastrous emotions away on his leaching of her magic.
It could all be explained as an after-effect of his sharing my magic. A rational part of her pleaded desperately in a mighty effort to sway her disharmonized conception. The mage understood herself better than to believe such a falsehood. She could lie to others. She could lie to the world or even the Maker himself; but Solona had always upheld the moral of never lying to oneself. Reluctantly she admitted that somewhere along the way in between the lines of right and wrong; in between the bounds of common sense and common decency; in between the roles of mage and templar, she had failed herself in the most important way possible.
She cared about the templar, far more than she should.
The disheartened young woman gazed up at the night sky and sneered slightly at the bright stars that ridiculed her and the self-induced torture she had wrought. He was just too confusing and Solona hated to be confused. Yet, she had stumbled upon him out there in the midst of trees and the gaping maw of death and had been utterly powerless to stop herself from coming to his aid. She reflected that he was willful to a fault and so full of that infuriating templar duty. As a mage she should have hated him, but she found that it only caused her to respect him more with each breakthrough the dark veil of the void called madness. Every time he somehow wandered back from the brink to confront her with such anger and even more determination caused her to lose just a bit more of her resolve. The templar had ensnared the mage with bonds far stronger than any Thedas or fade conjured elements and only one of them harbored that knowledge.
It was illogical. It was inconceivable. It was the worst tragedy Solona had ever known; to care for someone she had and would do nothing but betray. She cursed the pious swordsman for it was entirely his fault. She lashed out at her own weaknesses of wanting to be cared for and companionship. If only he had not of looked at me like that. Her mind wept acrimonious tears at the consequences of taking risks. Deviating from the plan had brought her to Cullen. Straying from her most upheld nature subjected her to dance to a tune she did not understand. She had been lost in the crucial moment where his eyes had seen her as a woman. Solona had not been a mage who needed to be feared or used as the Tower saw fit. She had not been a nameless and unremarkable face in the crowd to be forgotten or ignored. The young woman brushed away the unshed moisture that collected at the corners of her eyes. I was simply Solona, a woman he had convinced himself he loved.
It was a hard to go about every day as nothing more than a shadow in the Tower. She had tried never to be noticed by anyone. Being invisible had come at a price because everything came with a price. It was a lesson that the world taught with ruthless efficiency; those that failed to learn were left cast by the wayside. She had pushed past the constant feelings of loneliness and sadness. Being noticed was not something she could have afforded. She understood from a very tender age that everything hinged on the small details that people overlooked or took for granted. The best place she could always hide in had been plain sight. Now it all seemed the cruelest form of irony that all she had been since in the Templar's presence was being noticed. It made her uneasy and excited at the same time. She could call it a rush of something that caused her confliction. Solona knew the term to describe her regard for Cullen, but to use it would cross a line that even the Maker and all the old gods combined could never undo the consequences of.
She cared about the templar, far more than she should.
She wanted to grasp those few precious moments where Cullen was lost in a haze of sweetness and caring. The mage wanted to be foolish for even one breath's time, but she would never do that. Her heart constricted painfully with each adoration-filled stare he leveled at her when the newest bout of madness overtook him. She wanted to believe that his affection for her was genuine. Who does not want to be cherished? There were times when he was so astoundingly sweet that she wished to play the part he had cast her in, however, even that was too underhanded even for her. She was just a woman, but she was also the one protecting him from the harsh reality of the world. His whole mental state was precariously balanced only by the feeding of her magic into his starved senses. Solona could have manipulated every waking aspect of the man. Yet, she would never even be tempted to use that power. The templar, Cullen, he mattered to her now. There was simply no possible way to forget that; at least not for her.
OoOoOo
Locked inside the cyclone of magic-laced delusions, the inner most sanctity of Cullen; his very essence struggled against the weight of his own mind. The stoic templar had been pushed to the very pits of consciousness as other embodiments of his past and his dreams warred over possession of his physical body. In the darkness unlike any he had ever known, the Templar's psyche was force to will away the hideous caresses of his false identities. There were moments in time he could reflect upon his interactions with the mage. However, those carefully fought for snippets in time were rare and more often than not he was woven in the fabric of insanity no different from the rest of the pattern.
He would have liked to think that he was floating at the back of his mind, constantly vigilant against the treachery of the apostate. He would have liked to think that. What Cullen knew to be true was that she held all the power in their reversed roles of captor and captive. It chilled his bones to bask in the knowledge that she could end his life at any point if she chose. The prime identity of Cullen was bitterly grim that should she ask it of him, he might very well help her with his own murder.
It was due to revelations such as those, which caused Templar Cullen to roar out against the deafening wails of his other personalities. They were the shadows of his younger years. The reflections of his foolish hopes and dreams before life had come and corrected those tedious notions that happiness could be found by the likes of him. Here, in his own personal fade nightmare, the man sat watching the world go by behind the glassy eyes of lunacy. He felt very much like he was standing in front of a warped and malicious mirror that exposed the most hated parts of himself to his worst enemy.
Why would she not just let him die?
Templar Cullen's honor rested in tatters around him. His true self clung with fading hope and ever-present determination to crawling out from the void of madness. The cyclone raged within him and left the prime part of his existence bereft of all comfort and memory. He had never been a man to slip into his cups, and he mused without humor that his body acted without him in a similar manner to pure intoxication. He was a man forged to be in control at all times. Templar Cullen dimly conceded that he had no control over anything at this point. He had fallen into the clutches of the most devious 'cursed' he had ever had the misfortune to come across.
It was an irascible clarity that his lifetime spent in devotion to the Maker would amount to not. All that he had sacrificed in the name of the greater good would be squandered as he was lead by the nose, by a mere slip of an apostate, across the land. Templar Cullen had detested mages from the moment he knew they did not appreciate the sacrifices men like him had made. The magic-born did not think of the blood, and tears spilt to protect them from everything. Mages were allowed a great many freedoms that Templars were forever denied and they wanted more? They were ungrateful and Templar Cullen found them repulsive because of the willful disobedience to a few simple rules.
Templar Cullen could not understand what mage wanted from him. She had yet, as far as the few precious glimpses with his own eyes perceived, caused him harm. Did the apostate expect him to rejoice in her mercy? Did she expect him to be grateful that she had ruined the only thing a man who had spent his entire life working toward one goal ever wanted? The mage had taken his reputation, his pride, and his dignity. What more could she possibly ask of him?
Why would she not just let him die?
OoOoOo
He was watching her again and Solona felt the flesh on her arms prickle in awareness. The last four days had been nothing short of torture for the woman. Every day was a deranged dance between the pair with music that constantly changed. Yesterday, they had stopped by a river to bathe. The heavy and cloying dirt of the road stung at her eyes. She noted that her ward was in an equally distressed state. Her hear prayed that he would be angry or even lapsed back into the Chantry mentality. She had an easier time accepting his wrath over his worship.
Things were complicated enough already.
It had taken a tower's worth of patience and many placating words to convince Cullen to discard his armor. Solona needed them to draw as little attention as possible to themselves because they had neared Ostagar and someone would remember a lone templar with a female traveling companion. The ordinary mage had no intention of straying down a course of action that would have force her to stand out in the memories of even one soldier.
It was a cold comfort to know that her former Chantry sanctioned guard would be left with few memories of her face. However, she knew that it was possible he might not forget the song of her magic. For the past few nights his energy had clutched at her either while awake or asleep and had sipped voraciously at her sorcery. Each time the experience left her trembling with want and a hunger of a much different nature. Though she sadly acknowledge that his mind might hate her, his body and his power wanted her. Solona barricaded her responsiveness to their shared nature aggressively.
"Are you angry with me?" Solona braced herself against the pang of elation that grew shyly at the sound of his voice.
Her smile was slightly forced, but it came easily bidden to her lips all the same. "No. I am not angry with you. Why do you ask?" She paused from walking to take a moment to reign in her turbulent thoughts.
His amber eyes lowered once to the ground and looked back at her with open concern. "You…you se-se-seem…upset." He bashfully finished and the mage witnessed for the first time a stuttering templar.
How awkwardly endearing. The wisp of a thought floated around her mind. Softening her features into a look that could have been described as wistful and she firmly shut it out. Things were complicated enough already.
"I thank you for your concern, but you need not trouble yourself on my account." She said evenly. Her eyes lowered of their own accord and stared at his wool leggings.
"Ah. I-it's no trouble." He hurriedly replied. "Truly. I…I just w-wanted to make sure you are alright."
She grinned sadly at his tone. Solona wondered mildly what fabricated reality he was placed in this time. "Cullen?" Curiosity was the largest of her vices she firmly decided.
"Y-Yes?" He hopped to attention at the sound of his name.
"What am I to you?" Her plain brown hair tumbled over her shoulder when she tilted her head in quiet contemplation. After having had to figure out what he perceived so many times, she earnestly tried to find the harm in simply asking him what he was thinking.
"Wh-what?" The templar cried out in distress and confusion.
"What am I to you?" She reiterated and noticed the dull red flush creeping up his cheeks.
"You…yo-ou're …" Amber eyes darted around aimlessly and the man stood still as a lump of stone.
"I'm…?" She prompted softly. Her heart went out to the clearly deranged man. How many times would sick fantasies do harm to them both? Her tone and face where a cool mask of indifference in stark contrast to the warm uncertainty permeating her heart.
"You're my mage." His eyes had widened upon hearing the words his mouth had uttered without thought. "Well, I-I mean you're not…my mage exactly." His body shook likely and Solona deducted he was embarrassed by the careless declaration. "You-you're the mage assigned to m-my squadron to fight against the darkspawn."
Darkspawn? Her mind questioned in wry amusement. This delusion is new. Had he, perhaps, wanted to be a Grey Warden? She respected the man's talents and iron-clad will to know he would have been a credit to their ranks.
"Ah. I see." She commented as she processed that useful bit of information for later use.
She watched his mouth open as if to say something else, but she knew he had decided against it when an audible clack echoed between them as his teeth struck against each other. She cast her eyes upward to watch the gentle breeze carry a single ordinary sparrow across the vibrantly blue sky.
"Do you l-like birds?" Solona's attentions had rebounded off of the animal and back her crazed companion.
She blinked at the question; it seemed rather random to ask. "Yes, I like birds." She stated sans emotion.
"M-me too." His face split into a sweet grin and her lips twitched slightly in response before she forced them into neutrality. "Do you have a favorite? Bird I mean?" His eyes suddenly seemed too open for the man Solona had first met.
She nodded in the direction the sparrow had taken off in. "That was my favorite."
"A sparrow?" He asked clearly confused. "Why? It is so ordinary!"
The unintentional slight speared the deeply harbored insecurities that came with being completely unremarkable. She was average. She knew that. That did not mean that once or even on occasion she did not envy the true beauties of the land. However, no was not the time or the place for such reflections.
Things were complicated enough already.
"I think ordinary things are remarkable in their own rights." She shrugged easily and turned back to continue down the road.
"Oh…I didn't…I mean…" She could hear the thumping of his still armored boots behind her.
"It's alright." She replied soothingly. It doesn't matter anyway; there are things which simply cannot be. Sagely the mage recited one of the laws of Thedas and of life.
"No. It's not alright." Solona's head snapped up at the change in timber of his voice. A different Cullen. Her mind buzzed in warning. "It's not alright the way he looks at you." Cold fury washed over her senses as his energy lasciviously impressed upon her magic.
The mage was aware of the growing alarm pooling in her stomach at what exactly his madness had crafted her as now. "He?" She arched an eyebrow slowly and moved to face him. Instincts aeons old prattled off warnings. Her observances of men told the tale of extreme jealously and his words only supported the assessment. Dangerous. Her mind supplied and she knew it to be true. Rage and jealously went hand in hand. She worried that he might regress back to his true Templar nature.
He strode forward and grabbed her. She fought the natural preclusion to struggle in his grip; it would only fuel whatever lunacy he was caught in. "Don't play coy with me." The threat lingered in the air and stifled any question she might have posed. The mage was once more ensnared by a very irate templar and solutions tumbled from her mind like running water.
Things were complicated enough and now she was in predicament before midday. "I am not playing coy." Her tone was cautious and low. A similar pitch would have been used to calm a wounded animal.
His fingers coiled tighter around her arms and she winced. Solona knew a bruise would form later as a result of his attention. "You are mine Solona." He hissed an inch from her face and parted her lips in true surprise.
"Of course I am." Her goal was to alleviate the tense situation. Her eyes gazed into his unblinking.
"Say it." His voice was hoarse form want and desperation. She swallowed at the raw need reflected in his energy and eyes. "Tell me that I have not betrayed my vows for nothing." He pulled her close to his chest and she found breathing to be constricted pressed so confidingly between his arms. "Tell me that you are mine." His face contorted into a passionate rage. "Say it!"
"I'm yours Cullen." She meant those three Thedas-shattering words. Her body shook from the feeling of ultimate betrayal. Solona felt tears prickle the back of her eyelids as his mouth crushed hers in an unforgiving kiss that demanded everything she never wanted to give. She had told him the truth and in doing so she had given herself away. She had betrayed every sense of logic and wisdom she held dear.
Things had been complicated enough already.