"Be careful," I warned, casting a worried look in her direction. She caught my eyes over her shoulder, smiling back at me with mischief shining in her eyes and the red of her lips barely visible.
"Of course," she laughed, though I know she didn't mean it. I took the little laugh that tinkered like bells over her shoulder and hid it away in a special box for later. What a beautiful sound.
I watched each delicate, bare foot trace a line across the stone wall, inching and dancing forward as if grace itself had nothing on her prowess. She did a light twirl, instinctively jerking me into motion in the case she fell - then falling back awkwardly on one heel when she didn't - and hopped ahead, arms held out for balance.
"Why do you insist on being here?" I questioned, now feeling the tense sensation beginning to creep up on my skin. I wasn't quite sure if this was against protocol or not, but it certainly didn't feel right. Why weren't there any laws regarding the sanctuary garden, anyway?
"Why do you insist on asking every week?" she posed back. I opened my mouth to retort, then closed it when I had no argument. There was no reason other than paranoia - that or fear Greagoir would discover us and I would never get to bring her to the garden again. I would never get to see her dance across the stone wall in the sunlight.
I didn't want that.
"It's just-" I tried, then fell still when she perked a brow at me over her shoulder.
"Just what, templar?" she asked. I flinched at the name; I had hoped by now she was past that, though it seemed more like a fleeting pet name rather than insult now, at least. She grinned. "I have you to accompany me, no? We're fine."
She hopped across a deep, crumbled groove in the stone wall and began to scour the north side. I tilted my head slightly, watching her in mild fascination. A grin betrayed my lips.
"Greagoir can kiss my arse if he wants to ban me from the garden as well," she added as an afterthought, her lips pulling into a determined frown. I chuckled.
"Care to tell that to his face?" I tested. She shot me that look and I instantly crumpled under it, the smile lessening on my features. This seemed to satiate her.
Silence followed. She continued to travel the length of the wall in silence, arms spread out like wings and feet still delicately tapering over the grooves of flawed stone like wind snaking over the hills. She was a beautifully fluid creature; more so than most I had seen. Her anger was graceful - her joy, sublime. She rested between contemplative and lost as she made her way to the third wall on my right, now facing me as she stepped closer.
I fully turned to face her as she came within a few feet, sucking in my breath in hopes she would not see the faltering foolishness on my face. How is it I could hold a full conversation with her ten feet away, yet not a foot away?
She is too close..
As she reached the very edge of the crumbling wall, I held out my hands in a routine gesture to help her down, though my heart thrashed in my chest. I had to touch her to help her down. Even through the armor I could feel my hands burning.
But instead of sliding into my hands she took one, bemused look at my outstretched hands, grinned slightly, then plopped herself right down on the edge of the wall with one leg dangling on either side.
"Cullen," she said, and instantly my eyes leveled to hers - eager, desperate to connect in that moment of equal ground. She looked at me only for an instant before flicking her amber eyes away, too evasive for me to catch. Her control danced away before I could grasp it.
"Yes, Isthalla?" I forced the phrase out of my mouth, praying to the Maker for steadfast language. The stutter did not fall, and I was relieved to take in a quiet breath. She paused to soak in the sound of her own name before swinging her legs back and forth.
"Do you ever dream?"
I fell still, unsure if I had heard her correctly. My brow screwed up as I drew my eyes back to her face - they had been watching my shuffling boots on the floor - and frowned.
"O-Of course," I shrugged (damn my stuttering). "Everyone does-" I added, then stopped myself when she shot me a daring, fierce scowl.
"I-I mean," I corrected, rubbing one hand to the back of my neck and returning my eyes to the floor in a fit of embarrassment. "Obviously for magi - I mean, I imagine it's different," I searched for words, and found myself sounding more foolish by the second. Isthalla seemed to accept my ignorance and moved on, shrugging her shoulders.
"The only difference between us is that I am still aware in the Fade, whereas you are not," she corrected quietly, her voice and eyes far-off in a private world I was not allowed to see.
"What's it like?" I dared to ask, my voice falling quiet in fear I would shatter the paper-thin image she was lost within. I dare not disturb her; not when she looked that way. Her eyes cast across the sunlit garden, seeing things unimaginable. She looked wistful; beautiful.
"I can smell grass," she said. "I know the color of a Tevinter sunset, the sensation of snow in Kirkwall.." Her eyes grew pained.
"..I know what the ocean looks like," she murmured.
And then it hit me, as if the stone walls surrounding the small sliver of a garden centering in the sanctuary had fallen upon me.
You have never seen them.. any of them.
Though my late youth was spent confined in a cell for over a decade, I knew the sensation of grass; of dirt. I knew what it meant to run barefoot over cobble-stoned streets, and to run through the grassy plains outside Denerim. To splash in the shallow ends of a river while the Revered Mother yelled at me to come back inside. I knew the smells of a marketplace; of salty, fresh fish and mountain-scented furs and exotic incense burning under a sun-hot tent. I remembered these things and kept them hidden in my memory to muse over in my cell; to remember because I had those memories to hold, to keep my sanity by.
She had none of these.
No memories.
Nothing to grasp.
The protectively injured look on her face made sudden, painful sense to me and I felt ashamed to even look at it. I wanted to cure it, to make it go away. Maker, I wanted to bring her outside. To touch the grass, smell the salt-driven wind of the ocean, or experience the golden heat of a summer day. Maker knows these were the things I craved the most while locked away inside black stone walls for thirteen years.
She had been locked away her entire life.
I could never make up for such atrocities, but I could at least grant her the joys within my power. The visits to the few and rare tower windows that Greagoir still allowed to be open - as long as a templar supervised. The visits to the stone garden in the sanctuary. The green house.
All these things meant everything to her, and many magi.
"In my dreams, I have walked upon the sea.." she cut through my thoughts, whispering them out in a quiet incantation of lost memory. A fabrication of things that could be, and should have been. The fleeting desires of a caged bird.
I reached out my hands again, this time in a turn for empathy. She looked at them, lost and wistful, before slowly reaching out her own hands to place upon my shoulders. She slid into my arms, warm and fragile, and clung to me. I nearly lost my breath as I tried to fill my lungs, surprised by the sudden change of motion, but unable to deny it. Her small hands wrapped around my neck in a desperate grasping for comfort, and I - in turn of a short, startled breath - pulled her down from the stone wall and held her in my arms.
"I'm sorry, Isthalla," I whispered, my face pressing against her hair. "I will show you the sea one day; I promise."
Maker forgive me.
"Ser Cullen?"
My eyes flashed open in an instant - when did I start daydreaming in the middle of duty, anyway? They traveled the length of the room in a quick, repetitive manner, assuring me that we were not in any immediate danger, before turning to the persistent and small voice at my side. Her big, green eyes flashed up at me in a worrisome, childlike manner. I smiled.
"Yes, what is it Nera?"
I softened at the young girl's expression - I honestly didn't think there was anything good left in this world; I didn't believe Greagoir was still capable of of humanity, either. Yet here we were, Nera a recently-orphaned elfling from the forest. One of the patrol groups found her half-starved in the outlining woods, and took her in despite her magical abilities. Where I had expected a quick and merciless death, I found her spared and a newly-initiated apprentice into the tower.
She seemed more nervous than usual - honestly I'd never seen a creature so jumpy in my life - and chewed on her bottom lip before darting her eyes over her shoulder, then back to me.
"Are y-you… okay?" she forced the words out in a soft tremble, immediately placing her gaze elsewhere when I tried to look down at her. My brow crumpled.
"Wh-Well, yes, Nera," I said. "Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?" I almost wanted to laugh - she was always so busy fussing over the others, especially the younger apprentices. She had a kind heart; too kind at times.
"It's just-" she paused, turning her sad eyes to the floor again. "You've been staring awfully hard at that wall for some time now, a-and I thought-" she broke off her sentence, unsure of where she was going with it. Her hands were crumpled against her chest in doubt as she bit her lip again out of habit and shook her head.
"I-I'm sorry, I don't mean to bother you," she murmured fruitlessly before turning to walk off. My hand reached out in an instant and lightly grabbed her shoulder.
"Nera," I asked, and felt her jolt under my touch. I removed my hand in an instant, remembering how easily startled she was, before retracting it back to my side and lowering my voice.
"Nera," I said a bit kinder, and in an instant her big eyes were turned to me again - hopeful. "It is no trouble, I promise," I smiled, leaning over a bit so she wouldn't feel so intimidated. "I was just lost in a thought, I suppose."
"Really, what about?" she piped up, then curled into her arms when she heard her own voice bounce off the surrounding walls. "I-I mean, you don't have to, if you want," she added, quieter. I chuckled.
"No, it's quite all right," I nodded, gesturing for her to take a seat on the table next to me. She hopped up without a second's thought, swinging her legs back and forth with a happy child's smile on her face. I envied it - briefly.
"To be more specific I was thinking about someone, actually-" I explained, leaning back against the table and crossing my arms. She shrank away from me a bit, then slowly uncurled when she did not feel a threat from my presence. I could relate well to that feeling.
"Really, who?" she asked, her wide eyes turned to me. I looked away, my eyes roving lazily over the hundreds of books lining the shelves of the library.
She loved being here..
"A very good friend of mine.." I said after a moment, though the words came out slowly. My brow furrowed at the sound - a foreign language that I had refrained from speaking for many months. Though the ache in my heart did not leave with the sound, it felt more like a fond memory.. if it was only the fond ones that I recalled.
"Oh," Nera spoke up, sounding crestfallen. "Was it.. a girl?" I raised a brow in surprise she could guess so easily - or perhaps it was my mistake for giving away my thoughts so easily through expression - and brushed it away without a second's more thought.
"Yes, a lovely and very stubborn lady," I chuckled. "Her name was Isthalla." Poison on my tongue; sweet, intoxicating poison that I wanted more of. A poison long-gone. Perhaps vanished from the face of the earth. My smile waned.
Where are you now?
"Did you like her?" Nera piped up. I looked at her then, her wide elf-eyes staring at me in confusion and wonder. It would be a few years before she understood that side of feelings, but hopefully not too soon. With feelings comes the loss of innocence, and the inevitable obsession that will consume the purest heart. I did not wish something like that upon something so sweet and innocent as Nera.
A song I know too well, Isthalla..
"Yes," I answered honestly, shifting uncomfortably in my armor. "Very much." I didn't feel this was an appropriate topic to continue treading upon, so I attempted to steer her mind away from that realm of bad memories.
"In fact, she was an elf, just like you," I smiled, tilting my head towards the surprised little mageling. She blinked.
"Really?" she asked. She seemed entranced by this knowledge, suddenly wanting to know everything and anything I could talk about regarding this mystery woman to her child's mind. So I told her, to the best of my knowledge, and making sure to keep the darker themes out of the story, managed to weave something of a fairy tale out of the story of Isthalla the Grey Warden - woman, elf, and mage. Leading Ferelden out of the blight.
It was a greatly fantastic story, though painted in a way children could admire. I was ashamed at my telling of the tale, each flash of dark memory staining my mind as I skipped over the parts no child should know. Gaps were filled with pointless romanticism I secretly hated myself for, yet wished could be true. She was painted as an unscathed glass sculpture in my story. A beautiful and majestic bird taken flight to the sky, giving hope to all magi for their freedom.
If only I could believe it, as well.
"Ser Cullen..?" her small voice broke me from my trance of thought. I turned and looked at her, eyes half-lidded and thoughtful, before offering a blank smile. She seemed reluctant to speak then, finally biting her lip in a fit of nervousness, fussed with her hands before looking up into my eyes.
"If it makes you so sad, then why think about her?"
The impact of her words hit me with a bitter irony I did not expect. Why did I think about her? And more so…
"Why do you think she makes me sad?" I laughed, stunned by a child's attentiveness to words unspoken. Was I so easy to read?
She seemed troubled by this accusation, and fiddled more with her hands before looking away. She seemed upset with herself.
"I-It's just…" she paused, her nose twitching to the side. "W-When you talk about her… you- the way you look," her voice fell as she shook her head and looked back up at me, "you look so sad.."
"Oh.." I murmured, the empty smile falling from my face in an instant.
"I-I'm sorry," Nera shook her head, doubtful of her words. "I-I didn't mean to- I just.." she bit her lip, and for a second I was horrified to imagine tears forming in her eyes. I must have imagined it.
"I just don't want you to be so sad all the time.." she finished with a miserable sigh.
Oh…
"Nera," I began, tripping over my own logic at the possibility of trying to explain such things to a child, but then again she wasn't really a child, was she? To me, perhaps yes… but she was but a few years shy of my age before my conviction to Aeonar. Perhaps she understood more than I realized.
"It's important to think about the ones you… care for," I started, already feeling myself stumbling over every word I intended to be so poignant. It always came out as a jumbled mess of confusion - just never what I wanted to say.
"What I mean to say is-" I tried correcting myself, sighing in frustration while pulling two fingers to the bridge of my nose. "Though it may hurt to think about it, remembering those most important to us can help us forget that they aren't with us… now. Our memories are all we have of the people we've lost. I-It's important to keep them."
"But why if it hurts you so much to remember?" she cut in. Now I fell silent, absorbed and silenced by the conviction in her voice. Maker's breath, were those tears in her eyes?
"Ser Cullen!"
I jumped at the sound of a slamming door and a third party cutting into our conversation, but turned with an instinctive attentiveness to find Ser Weston running across the foyer. I jumped to attention and met him halfway.
"Yes, what is it?" I turned back to find Nera sulkily standing to her feet and preparing to slink away.
"There are abominations in the tower, ser," Weston whispered.
Maker's Blood, no…
Panic. Fear. Sickness sinking in my bones. My heart skipped a beat.
"A-Are you-" I tried to whisper back, but my voice withered before I could force the words out. Weston shot me a grave, stone-cold look that told me something was very, very, dreadfully wrong. My blood ran cold.
"Greagoir plans to bar the front entrance.. Cullen, what do we do?" he mumbled. I could hear the terror in his voice - the fear of being trapped on the third floor when all hell broke loose and every tower mage, apprentice, and templar was torn limb from limb by demons.
"Nera!" my hand shot out in an instinctive order for her to remain where she was. She froze in an instant, her wide, terrified eyes locking on me in bristling fear she had done something wrong. I turned fearful eyes in her direction, feeling my ragged breath tremble from between my lips.
"You must come with me," I ordered.