Chapter Thirty-Six: The Stubbornness of Templars
How many days, she wondered to herself, Four? No, five? Four nights, definitely. So that would make this Day Five…
Peredura was standing beside Cullen's desk, report in hand, tapping the clipboard lightly against the palm of her other hand. But her eyes were elsewhere, as were her thoughts, and the words on the parchment she held remained undeciphered.
Five days.
She could feel the unwanted dread in her heart, eating at her hope like a cancer, whittling it down slowly, eroding it away until her mountain of confidence from last week was nothing more than a tiny spark caught in a tornado—but a spark that refused to die. So long as there was life, she kept repeating to herself, so long as there was breath, so long as there were no hurried steps out in the hall, so long as there were no low and heavy voices, so long as Cullen did not walk through that door, head hung low, hazel eyes bent with sadness…
The door opened behind her, the one that led to the hallway, and she superstitiously cursed herself for having given thought to her fear. She knew, she simply knew without looking, that it would be Cullen who entered the office. Desperate to stave off the inevitable, she said the first thing that came into her head.
"A scout reported sighting a very large, very dark, and very hairy man accompanied by a woman half his size, heading here to Val Royeaux."
There was a silence after her words, as if whoever stood there was letting her know how easily they saw through her simple ruse. "That certainly sounds like Blackwall and Harding…" Cullen's voice sounded from behind her.
She refused to turn around. "If they keep their current pace, they should be here around midday tomorrow. Then there's our 'guest' in the basement." She hurried on, wanting to continue talking, to stay in control of the conversation, to keep him from telling her what she didn't want to hear. "The swelling in his face is gone, and I can confirm that he is not Maximillius Nollatori."
"Peredura…?"
"Oh, he's very close," she burst over whatever he might have tried to say. Still she could not bring herself to turn around. She could not acknowledge him, or she would have to acknowledge the pain he would be bringing with him. "But I went to see him, in full uniform so there'd be no doubt that I was the Inquisitor, and he talked to me like he knew me, like he knew some secret about me, but he would not say what that was. He's obviously bluffing, and stalling for time, which means he's a decoy meant to give the real Nollatori time to escape. I've paired up some of my guard with some of the scouts and sent them out under the pretense of looking for any signs of an accomplice."
"That's very good thinking…"
"Nothing so far, but if Nollatori is still in the area, we'll find him. With a scout to track him, and a Templar to negate his magic, he should be in chains soon enough."
Her words were failing her, growing obvious and unnecessary, petering out into silence, and allowing Cullen an opening. His steps were slower than normal as he approached, but whether from exhaustion or sadness she could not tell. He came close up behind her, set his hand on her shoulder, his fingers giving a gentle squeeze, and mutely asked her to turn towards him.
She stubbornly, almost childishly, shook her head and refused to face him.
"…Pere…"
His little nickname for her fanned the air beside her ear, a breath of prayer, spoken simply and without command.
And she obeyed. "Oh, Cullen," she sobbed, suddenly spinning into his chest, her eyes squeezed tight and refusing to see him while her arms adversely gripped his chest, refusing to let him go, "Please, tell me, is he…?"
"Shh…" he breathed across the top of her head, his own arms holding on to her as if he, too, would never let go. "Shh, no, Pere, Abbets is still alive."
"Then…" she swallowed, surreptitiously using his coat to wipe the tears off her cheeks. Irrelevantly she wondered why he wasn't wearing his armor, thinking that she hadn't seen him wear it since he had recovered from the opeigh, then reasoning that perhaps he didn't want the extra weight and encumbrance while dealing with Abbets' withdrawal. She pushed aside the wayward thought and tried to squarely face what was before her. "Good. I admit, I've been concerned, you took over two days before you turned the corner and started recovering. I had hoped Abbets wouldn't be too far behind you…"
Cullen sighed over the top of her words, "Pere…"
"…But five days is a long time. I don't know, maybe because he is older, or has taken lyrium for a longer time, or…"
"Pere."
Again, she continued as if she hadn't heard him rather than blatantly ignoring him. "…or, um, maybe there's something about him physically, an old wound, or genetics, something—anything—that is making the process take longer with him…"
"Peredura!" Cullen hated doing it, but he barked at her. She was rambling, all but incoherently, and he had to stop her before things got out of hand, before she got the wrong idea. He felt her start at his tone, her babbling silenced, her fingers gripping even harder for a moment, before she untensed and pulled back far enough to tilt an eye upwards, peeking through her bangs. It blinked at him, slowly, the doe-like orb moist and red.
"Why?" She all but whispered. "Why you, but not Abbets? I know, no one else before you has successfully taken themselves off of lyrium, but you did, so it is possible. And I know, unlike you, a Templar gets either disgraced or cut off for some reason, and they want to keep taking lyrium, but they can't. And then they become so desperate that they do anything to get their hands on some. But you and he… this is different. This was deliberate, and with no intention of ever taking any lyrium ever again. And with support and experience and some kind of idea of what to do, of what might work. So why can't he…?"
Cullen watched as her frustration faded, and the sorrow it was covering over came to the surface, her features curving and softening with pain. He opened his mouth, and some sort of timid pop of sound emerged, but he didn't speak an answer. There was no answer to give. Defeated, he could only stand there, tuck her head back underneath his chin, hold her as much for his own comfort as for hers, and stare at a spot on the wall.
"He's not going to make it."
It wasn't a question, not really, but Cullen felt compelled to say something, "Stitches has just been in to see him. He… ah… well, Abbets' been several days without food, and not much water… he has gotten too weak physically… there's only so much a body can handle before…" His words fell far short of the task of explanation—they both knew there really was no reason why—and he ended lamely, the words sounding hollow and trite. "It won't be much longer."
She nodded, focusing her gaze on his broad and steady shoulder, mentally preparing herself, trying to draw strength from the man with whom she was about to engage in battle. "I want to see him."
He took a deep breath, not wanting to but knowing he had to deny her wish. He leaned back and moved his hands to her shoulders, bracing her, bending his neck to catch her eye, "Pere, you know why that isn't a good idea…"
"I know why it wasn't a good idea," she countered, way ahead of him from an argument perspective, "Before. When he had to focus on getting through this, on fighting, on staying alive. My presence would have been detrimental then, it would have fueled his visions and increased his torment. But now…" she broke off to nip at her lower lip for a moment, until her chin stopped trembling and her voice stopped threatening to break. A tear escaped, but that couldn't be helped. "If Abbets can't do this, if he can't free himself of lyrium, then I want to see him one last time before he… before it's finished. I need to, Cullen." She raised her dark brown eyes to his hazel and pierced him with her fervor. "Even if he doesn't know me, I want to see him. He's done so much for me, protected me, shielded me, kept my secrets. He's been watching over me since before I've been self-aware, all the way back to Haven just after the explosion. I have to see him, I… I just… hope that… on some level at least…" She had to pause again to stop the rambling, to organize her thoughts into coherent and complete sentences. And to sniff. "I want to thank him and believe that somewhere deep inside Abbets hears me and knows how much he's meant to me." She lifted her face up a little, determined to see Abbets, even if it meant going against Cullen, and she needed him to understand that. She was going to see Abbets.
One last time.
Damn, but he couldn't stand against her, not when her overgrown bangs dangled about her jawline, not when her lower lip was swollen and bruised from being chewed. "All right," Cullen gave in, his voice gentle. "Devensport is in with him now, regaling him with old war stories. Let's allow him some time, first—he will also need to say those things before the end. And he and Abbets have known each other for far longer than you or I have known either of them."
"Fine," she agreed, "I'll go see him in a little while. But I am going to see him. Today."
"Of course," he kissed the top of her head. "I am at your command, Madam Inquisitor."
Her eyes softened at the hidden endearment. Suddenly, her lower lip began trembling and her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Cullen, you're impossible!"
He laughed, gently, quietly, sweeping her into his embrace once more, offering the front of his coat yet again as a makeshift handkerchief. "Hush, my love," he kissed her temple, "I didn't mean for this to happen. I only meant to make you smile."
"Oh, I know," she sniffed, but kept her arms around him and her face half-turned into his chest, "Sorry, but my emotions have been a bit… off… lately."
Cullen hummed, thinking of how stressful the past few weeks must have been for her—they certainly were stressful for him, and he was a trained soldier. She was just a girl, well, a young woman, but a former slave and opeigh addict—literally a "nothing" who quite suddenly had become arguably the most powerful woman in Thedas. He would have been surprised if her emotions hadn't been a bit "off."
Thinking only of helping her, of distracting her from her troubles, and absolutely without any sort of ulterior motive, he kissed her temple again. "I love you, Pere."
"Cullen…?" She hummed, not quite having heard him, or trusting herself to have heard him correctly. She had been thinking about Abbets, and waking up in Haven after the explosion, and the hollow full of spiders near where she had been trussed up, and the dance she and Cullen had shared, and where could her missing sock have gone? She had absolutely not been paying him any attention, other than knowing that he was near her and holding her and…
She had lifted her face to look at him, and he had taken the opportunity to kiss her full on the mouth. Immediately her eyes closed, her body acting without direction, instinctively knowing and understanding and adjusting itself. Her neck bent to better accommodate the angle, and her lips parted to allow him access. She could feel his hands splay across her back, hands so large that spread out as they were she was sure they covered her entire back. Then they increased their pressure, forming her body against his, turning and guiding her until she was lined up perfectly.
He pulled back from her mouth, but only long enough to breathe, "I love you, Pere."
"I love you, Cullen," her own breath answered, eyelids barely open as she watched him through long, dark, curvy lashes.
He bent lower, his lips now pressing against her jawline, trailing down to her neck, and around to an extremely sensitive and as-of-yet-undiscovered spot just behind her ear. She shivered in response, not from a chill but from desire. Needing no further encouragement, his hands decisively moved down to her backside and in one motion cupped her ass, lifted her onto the desk, and spread her legs.
"Oh!" She gasped, her thoughts and emotions in turmoil. "Um, Cullen…" Damn, but his lips were so hot and wet against her skin.
When he hummed an answer, the vibrations sent shivers down her spine.
It was getting harder and harder to think, but there was something important she needed to communicate to him. "Ah, no, wait, Cullen…"
He felt her hands move to his chest and give a feeble push, but she seemed to lack the strength or the will to fully shove him away. "Yes?" he mouthed into her neck, using his tongue after to lave at that coin-sized area of skin. He really didn't want to stop, and of course he would NEVER force her, but she didn't truly seem to want him to stop. Getting mixed signals, and not wanting things to go badly, he pulled back from her ear—he'd definitely have to remember that for another time—and caught her eye before throwing her that smirk he knew would get her riled up.
"Cullen," she sighed, rolling her eyes. She gave in to a breathy giggle and relaxed, her hands no longer trying to put any space between them.
Sensing the tension ease, and thinking he had gotten past whatever was the matter, he stepped up into the V between her legs and stroked a hand down towards her…
"Stop!" She slapped his hand and scooted away from him backwards across the desk, drawing her legs behind her.
"I… wha…" he gasped, eyes growing wide, never having seen her react in such a way. "Did I do something? Did I hurt you? What happened?"
"I, um," she had managed to put enough distance between them to primly swing her legs together. "No, just, I mean, I'm not hurt, you didn't hurt me, it's just now is not a good time for… that."
He blinked at her as she hopped off the other side of the desk, almost as if wanting to place the steady block of wood as a barrier between them. He wasn't sure what he had done to make her react so adversely so quickly, and he racked his brain trying to figure it out. She was acting overly emotional, and it had been very stressful as of late, so perhaps she was simply not in the mood. "Is it, erm, because of Abbets, you're just not feeling, um, interested in, ah…"
"Oh, um, no, I mean," now it was her turn to stammer, her face reddening as deeply as his, "Andraste's nightgown, but I'm horny as fuck. You've no idea..."
Yup, mixed signals again, he thought to himself as he drew in a heavy sigh. "Then…?" He let the word fade slowly away, watching her for any sort of clue to what was going on, but she could have been playing cards she was so unreadable. Giving up, he tried to prompt something out of her, "If you want to, and I want to…"
Finally, she attempted an explanation—of a sort, "It's… I… um… now is not a good… time."
She put extra emphasis on the word 'time,' but whatever she meant to convey was not getting through to him. If they both wanted to have sex, then he really couldn't see a reason why not to have sex, unless…. "Is it because we're in my office, and we might be interrupted?"
"No, um, not that, well, not only that." Her cheeks were a very fetching shade of pink as she glanced at the desk, remembering that first day when he had impulsively swept off the top of his desk and laid her down on it and…
"We could slip into my bedchamber."
"Oh," she stomped her foot in frustration, "I… I can't, Cullen, not this week." She stressed the last word, again trying to say something more.
He shook his head, completely at a loss.
"This week. It's not a good week for me. Next week will be, well, actually, I'm already a few days into this week, so three days at the most and we can do that again, but not for a few more days, because of, well, ya know." She held her hands in front of her stomach and did a sort of downward motion, hoping he would finally get the hint.
She watched, a bit hopeful at last, as his lips silently repeated the word 'week' while the gears in his head turned over all the implications. "Oh," he breathed at last, "Oh, you mean to say that you're, erm," he gestured vaguely at her abdominal region.
"Yes," she sighed, relieved that he had finally seemed to gotten the message. "Rotten timing, huh."
He gave half a laugh, not because anything was funny, but because everything was awkward. "I suppose, well, it could have been worse, you could have…"
When he didn't finish, she looked closer at his face and saw the blank and slack expression of shock and alarm. Concerned, she risked a step around the corner of his desk. "Cullen…"
"Maker's Breath!" He cursed, lifting his eyes to her, "You could have… why didn't you think to… oh, well, of course, you wouldn't know, would you, to be concerned about…"
"Cullen?" She repeated, taking another step.
"But regardless, I knew better," he berated himself. "I should have, at the very least. But I didn't…"
"Cullen." He seemed to be babbling, much as she had been earlier, though that thought didn't occur to her. She finished coming around the desk to stand before him, but he didn't appear to see her, his words continuing to run free and wild and confusing.
"I didn't, and you could've, but thank the Maker you're not, yet it could have been…"
"Cullen!" She tried a bit more forcefully, but he acted as if he didn't even realize she was in the same room with him.
"Even between Human and Elven it's not unheard of…"
"Commander!" She barked in her sternest voice.
"Ser!" He snapped to attention as if he was once more a green recruit.
She took a breath, thankful that his long-ingrained training as a soldier was still effective. Having finally gotten him to stop and acknowledge her, she attempted to get to the bottom of his rambling. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
He blinked under the force of her swearing, not to mention the anger and exasperation in her voice, and swallowed. "Contraceptives."
Now it was her turn to blink. "Contra—"
"Contraceptives," he repeated. "We never took any, erm, measures to ensure you wouldn't…" he dropped his gaze to her abdomen, then quickly returned to his parade stance, his face burning, "I mean, that after we had, ah…"
"Sex?" She offered, hoping she was close. Judging by the way he swallowed again her guess was correct.
"Sex," he nodded, taking another swallow for courage. "Even between Human and Elven, though rare, it's not unheard of. We should have taken precautions to ensure that you wouldn't, um, conceive."
"Conceive." It appeared all she could do was repeat a single word every now and then.
"Yes, exactly. Where would the Inquisition be, if the Inquisitor suddenly became pregnant?"
"Pregnant."
"You can't very well go around closing rifts with a babe in your belly."
"Babe."
"And it's not just the scandal," he continued, "Nor the inconvenience. Or even the timing. It's something we should talk about beforehand, a decision to make together, both of us, don't you agree?"
She didn't even try to speak this time.
"Of course, I shouldn't have expected you to know to take anything for it. I know some women do, or know what to take, but anyway you've had no experience with that sort of thing, or a mother or sister or anyone else to talk with, who would speak with you about such matters. You've been a slave for most of your life—I suppose it had never been your decision to make. But I knew better. And I selfishly didn't even consider it. I should have at least discussed it with you before things went so far and we…" His words dribbled to a halt before the look of disbelief on her face. He swallowed again, having simply no idea how she could think he could be wrong.
"We had sex," she said simply, "We weren't trying to make a baby."
"Sex is how one, well, two people make a baby," he felt like he was explaining an extremely complicated maneuver to a green recruit.
Peredura made a sound of frustration. She pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezed her eyes shut, and leaned her backside against his desk. "Oh, Cullen."
"I'm not wrong. And it is possible, despite the difference in race."
"I know, but," she pulled her hand away, her whole face a bright red, and suddenly finding the doorknob to be a fascinating item to stare at and study. "Cullen, do you remember my telling you exactly why Vicici was angry with Nollatori?"
"I, ah, well, yes, but," his expression seemed to say something different than his sporadic words.
"Vicici thought there was this extra power in my blood. He didn't want me to conceive a child, not yet anyway, because he feared the power would pass from me into that child. And when he came across Nollatori…" she swallowed, working herself up to something unpleasant, "…raping me in that alcove, he realized he would have to take precautions to ensure I couldn't accidentally conceive."
Cullen opened his mouth, and promptly closed it again. He was fairly certain that was the first time Peredura had referred to what Nollatori did to her as rape. Painful as it was for her to admit it, it was progress. She did see herself—both now and then—as a person. Someone with a life, and rights, and a say in what she wanted for herself. But her words continued and he had to keep up with her.
"Before we left Tevinter for the Conclave, well, let's say there was more than one blood ritual performed."
"You mean, other than when he cut off your ears, and used your blood to transfer the Tranquil's memories into your own?"
She nodded. "Around the same time, he did another blood ritual, I didn't really understand then what was happening, only that the spell was directed at me. When it was over, he said something like, 'There, that should more than last long enough. No danger now of you losing your power.'"
"You mean…"
"Vicici did something to me, something to make sure I wouldn't conceive, even if Nollatori dared to show up again, or someone else thought to take advantage of me. And I don't think it's going to wear off any time soon."
"How do you mean?"
Her hand subconsciously reached for the belt at her waist and for a dagger that was no longer hanging there, one that had been rusted and ruined with another Cullen's blood. "When Dorian and I had our little trip into the future, that had covered a full year. Corypheus' plans were still in motion; he wasn't finished yet. So if Vicici cast a spell on me that would prevent my getting pregnant until after Corypheus' plans were complete, more than actually, I think we can safely assume it's still working. I'm not going to get pregnant any time soon."
It was a strange thing to say, and an even stranger thing to hear.
Peredura stood there, leaning against the desk, arms crossed over her chest, looking very sad and somewhat grouchy and perhaps a bit frustrated.
"Do you, I mean, that is, ah," Cullen once more floundered. "Do you think it will last forever? Do you think you could, someday, conceive?"
She shrugged, her brows curving with thought and perhaps a tiny seedling of a dream. "Maybe. I don't know. I suppose I haven't really thought about it."
"Would you… want to? Have a babe? Someday?" Maker's Breath, what was HE saying?
"Again, I…" she looked at him, as strange of an expression on her face as the expression that was on his. "I don't… I've never… I…"
She shook, a funny sort of shiver that worked to snap them both out of the strangeness. "Now is not the time for daydreams. We've got too much work to do. Maybe, someday, after Corypheus is defeated and all the rifts are closed and the Inquisition no longer needs us, I mean, me." She desperately fought to keep the heat from her cheeks, but it was already too late. "But like you said, now would not be a good time for me to run around, closing rifts, fighting demons and dragons, all with a babe. And, thanks to my former master Vicici," she paused, "That won't be an issue."
Did her voice turn wistful just then, he wondered to himself. Did she give a little sigh? Was that disappointment flickering across her brow? Or longing? Before he could wonder, or even wonder what he himself was feeling, she set it aside and started towards the door. "I'm tired of waiting. Devensport can spend the rest of the day and all night recounting old war stories if he wants to, but I want to see Abbets now."
"It, ah," Cullen struggled for once to keep up with her physically—mentally he always seemed to be struggling. "I suppose it would be all right. Fear is in there. If he gives any sign of danger…"
"I'll back away, I promise." Her tone was grouchy and impatient and exasperated. She yanked open the door, feeling a little satisfaction in the abrupt act, and stalked into the hallway. She didn't have far to go; the room prepared for Abbets' use was almost directly across the hall. They were not alone, however; her ever-present Honor Guard standing careful watch. She tried to ignore them; undoubtedly, they knew exactly what Abbets was trying to do, exactly what their Commander had done, and quite likely wondering why she would blatantly be sticking her nose into the matter. She didn't care right then what they thought about her, or about her apparent lack of respect for the unspoken suffering of Templars. It was because of her respect for them—for Abbets in particular—that she was doing this. They would either come to understand in time, or not, and that was not something she could alter.
She found herself hesitating outside the door, her earlier momentum vanishing. She truly only decided to see Abbets right then because she wanted to end that awkward conversation with Cullen. It had grown too confusing, and too personal, and too painful, and too hopeful, and too presumptive, and too… well, too much like most private conversations between herself and Cullen.
Why could they never just say what they wanted to say?
"Your Worship?" One of the Templars coughed politely from behind her.
Peredura felt like shaking herself again, but going into that room was going to take all her courage. Memories of Cullen's withdrawal, of those moments he when was dangerously out of his mind, of those moments when he was lucid and riddled with guilt over things that had been out of his control…
Did she truly want to see Abbets in the same state?
Did she want to miss the opportunity to tell him goodbye?
Before she could make up her mind, before she could decide whether to lift her hand to knock, or bow her head and turn away, the portal opened before her.
Devensport stuck his head in the opening, and a big grin split his face horizontally. "Your Worship! Come in, come in. Fear told me you were there, smart hound that he is. Come in. Abbets was just asking for you a moment ago," he reached out his hand to grab her arm and pull her inside. He nearly closed the door on his Commander in his haste, but luckily only stubbed Cullen's toe. "Erm, excuse me, Ser," he knuckled his brow, "Didn't see you there. I was only thinking of keeping anyone else from seeing, well…"
He glanced over his shoulder at the bed set against the wall, out of sight of the door unless it opened fully. Peredura could not stop herself from following his gaze, her eyes searching for the man who had to be there. Abbets had been a giant in her mind, towering over her in both power and stature. His uniform had always been clean and pressed. His armor and weapons gleaming. His stance ready and alert. He was nothing of the Abbets she knew.
The man in the bed was thin and weak, the skin waxy and sallow, and so decimated the form was lost within the rumpled sheets. Stepping closer she could see his tunic was wrinkled, torn, and stained with filth she could well imagine. One hand lay on top of the bedclothes, the fingers bony and the knuckles appearing swollen, and so completely still she feared she was too late. In looking at his face, none of his gruff confidence was there, his surly reasonableness, his ready grunts, his unyielding steadfastness. Glazed eyes peeped through narrow slits, unseeing and uncaring, as if the effort of living had grown too burdensome and all he was doing was waiting to die.
Fear bumped into her leg from behind.
"Your Worship?" Devensport touched her elbow at the same time.
"Yes? What? Excuse me, I…"
She didn't see the two men exchange a look behind her back. Cullen nodded for Devensport to try again, so he repeated himself, "I was only saying, Abbets and I were reliving old times. Shared a lot of adventures, we have. Almost too many for one lifetime. Ah, but he's heard me tell them before, to the other Templars. And he's lived them. He might prefer a change of topic about now, if you'd like to sit with him for a bit."
She at last tore her eyes away from the bed to look at Devensport. "Can he hear us?" Her voice was quiet, barely above a breath of wind.
"No idea," Devensport shrugged, "But that's not going to stop the way I treat my friend. Talk with him, your Worship. Talk with him as if he can hear you. Say what you want; it'll be enough."
She hesitated just a moment longer, before Fear once more took matters into his own hand, erm, paw, and nudged her forward. She had to take a step to keep herself from falling, then another, and another, until she reached the side of the bed where Abbets lay. She wasn't sure, but she thought his eyes might be seeing her, or at the very least tracking the movement. She gave a look to her Mabari, but the hound was resolutely unconcerned for her safety, so she had to assume that Abbets was past the point where he could hurt her.
She was wrong.
"Abbets?" She called to him as she sat on the edge of the bed, one eye on Fear in case something should change, but most of her attention on her guard. When had his hair gotten so gray? Timidly, knowing how mercurial a Templar in withdrawal could be, she reached out a hand to stroke his hair away from his forehead. His skin was slick with perspiration, and she could feel the heat of his fever burning away his sanity from the inside. His hair was stiff, matted with sweat, spiky and unruly and in dire need of a wash. Her small, elven fingers combed through it, loosening the strands, softening the jaggedness, and settling the locks gently back on his forehead in a tidier manner.
When her hand moved away, when her palm no longer blocked her view of his eyes, she saw that he was indeed looking directly at her. "Hello, my friend," she smiled.
He tried to answer her. His lips moved, but his voice came out in a hoarse croak that was as dry and dusty as the grave. She continued to smile as she reached to the table beside the bed where a cup was already filled and waiting. "Here, let me help," she offered, bringing the cup to his lips, her other hand moving behind to tilt his head up. She carefully dribbled half a mouthful into him, waiting for him to close his lips and swallow the water, before offering another sip. After a few more times, when he seemed to be better able to work his mouth and had hummed a bit, she set the cup aside.
His hand reached out and caught hers before it could slip away. Startled, she looked first to Fear, then to Cullen, and lastly to Devensport, but no one seemed unduly alarmed. Cautiously, she returned her attention to Abbets. He was staring at her, staring almost without seeing her, his lips moving but with hardly the breath to give voice to his words. She smiled again, gently, and said, "It's all right, Albert. You don't have to say anything. I know. It's all right."
His face screwed up with anguish for a moment. Then he opened his eyes, staring at her with a look of love and longing that lifted away the decades of wear on his features. She got a fairly good impression of how handsome he must have been in his youth, but his lips were moving and he finally managed to make himself heard. "…missy…"
Peredura's eyes went wide. Missy was the name he used for the Elven girl he had loved. Missy was the girl he was reminded of whenever he looked at her. Missy was at the center of his greatest triumph and most devastating defeat, his worst nightmare, and the source of the torture for his withdrawal.
Again she looked at Fear, but her hound was unconcerned.
Again she looked towards Cullen, but he also seemed unconcerned. In fact, he made a motion with his hand, a rolling sort of continuing onward type of gesture, as if urging her to do something. Perhaps it was because Abbets was so weak, perhaps because it was so near the end it no longer mattered, perhaps it was simply that it would offer Abbets comfort, perhaps there was some other reason she didn't fully understand, but apparently he wanted her to play along with Abbets.
She nodded that she understood, turned back to the bed, and forced the smile back onto her face. "Shh, Albert, I already told you. Everything is all right, now. You can rest. You can be at peace, now. With me, Missy."
She hated herself for doing it, for pretending to be the love of another man. She felt like she was intruding into his personal life, misleading him and lying to him and exploiting his secrets. But if it would offer him comfort in the little time he had left, she would do it now and allow herself the cry of the century after.
"Missy…" he sighed, his eyes devouring her without seeing her, "Missa… Messah… Messallee…"
She put a finger to his lips, trying to ease his stuttering while she thought of something that might comfort him. Unbidden to her mind came an old story, one her mother used to tell her when she was little, right before bedtime. It was a tale filled with monsters and gods and an old fortress—or she might be mixing a few of those myths together. Regardless, the name he was trying to say sounded like the name of an Elven heroine in one of those stories. She decided to take the risk. "You were very close that time. Messahalleanthia."
"Bah," he grunted, a familiar sound, and shifted as if dissatisfied with himself but willing to let the matter drop, "Never could get it right. Missy, that's it, my Missy."
"Yes, Albert," she agreed, relieved the gamble about the name had paid off. "I'm your Missy. And we are together. You can be at peace, now, and with me forever, my love." Her words choked off as she bit into her lower lip. She wanted to vomit, she wanted to scream, she wanted to beat her chest and tear her hair out. She hated herself for deceiving him like this, but Fear's heavy head against her thigh and Cullen's soft hum of encouragement let her know that she was not alone, that regardless of the circumstances she was doing this to help a friend, and that this was the right thing to do. She shoved aside her self-loathing for the time being and continued the lie. "We're together, Albert. That's all that matters. You are finally with me."
Abbets was shaking his head. "No…"
"What?" Peredura might have sounded a bit nervous and short, but thankfully Abbets didn't notice it. She was supposed to be easing his mind, but apparently she had just said something to upset him. At a complete loss, she glanced back again at Cullen and Devensport, but they both seemed equally confused, Cullen shrugging and Devensport shaking his head. On her own, she tried to discover what was wrong. "Albert, what are you saying? What do you mean?"
"Can't stay," his voice was tired, coming out in a half-moan. Raising his hand to her cheek, he looked deeply into her eyes and did his best to explain. "That's why I waited so long. Wanted to see you, just once more, before I went back."
Her hand captured his, holding it in place, sensing it was slipping away along with him, "Back where?" This was getting even more confusing. Perhaps he was mad, and all this was simple rambling, something chaotic and nonsensical and irrelevant. But she continued to try to play along, to try to find something to offer comfort, to try to play the part of his long lost love. "Are you leaving? You just got here. Why do you have to leave?"
His hand dropped from her grip, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye. "Sorry, my love, my Missy, can't stay with you. Not yet. There's another girl. She's young, bit naïve, needs some looking after. Full of danger, her life is, and she needs me, too." He paused, staring at Peredura but seeing someone else, his brows curved with denied longing. "Want to stay, I do, you know that."
"I do know that," she nodded, trying to reassure him, but he kept talking as if he hadn't heard her.
"But there's duty, my duty, to her, to the Inquisition. Can't stay here, but I wanted to see you… to say… once more…"
He was fading, his head lolling on his neck while his eyes threatened to roll into the back of his head. Desperate, fearful that the time had come, she nonetheless bravely held back her tears and gave him her best smile. "I'm here, Albert, and I'll be here. I'll wait for you. I promise. I'll still be here."
"…just a bit longer…"
"However long it takes," a sob suddenly built in her chest, but she fought it back down. "You can go, Albert. It's all right, you can go…" As her words finally deserted her, she wasn't sure if she was herself or Missy saying he could go, and voiceless all she could do was hold his hand where it lay limp and cool on the blanket.
"…love… you… Missy…"
Abbets' voice faded away into a sigh, his eyes closing with those words. She gently settled his hand onto his chest, composing it in a comfortable position, and told herself he was only sleeping. Finally, she could stand, she could run away and find a dark corner and curl up into a tight little ball and cry until her eyes fell out. But before she could turn away, before she could give vent to her angst, his whole body gave a funny sort of jerk, like a miniature convulsion that couldn't quite develop into a full seizure. She gasped, startled, backing away, her tears and sorrow forgotten in the suddenness of the violent tic. Then he was still.
Very, very still.
"Cullen…?" She called softly, unsure of what had just happened, unwilling to voice her suspicions lest that turn her worst fears into reality.
He was beside her in the next heartbeat, leaning over her to examine Abbets. "Go and get Stitches," he calmly commanded, and Devensport's footsteps could be heard hastening towards the door to do his bidding. Peredura shifted further away, watching with wide eyes as Cullen placed a hand on Abbets' chest, as he tilted his ear over Abbets' mouth.
As he held himself still and waited and watched and prayed.
She saw it. She was sure she saw it, a gentle lift of the bedclothes, as the former Templar took what had to be a breath. She bit her lip, sending up a prayer, unschooled yet honest, Please, oh, dear Maker, please let him live, please let him do this, please, Maker, he's a good man, he deserves to survive this, I like him, I want him with me for just a bit longer, please, Maker, please…
She didn't know how long she had been standing there, or even when she had moved to the foot of the bed, but she came out of her rambling though silent petition as Stitches moved past her. Cullen relinquished his position to the healer and moved back to stand beside her. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, warming her physically and emotionally, while they waited with baited breath.
All except Devnensport, who was bouncing from foot to foot on the other side of her. "Well? Is he… did he…. Come on, man, this is Abbets! He's got to do this! Tell me he's alive."
"He's alive," Stitches obliged, his tone unconcerned.
Devensport blinked, Peredura dared to hope, and Cullen's arm held her even tighter.
"What?"
Stitches stood up from the bed and began twisting and stretching his back, grunting occasionally as he continued. "'Bout time, too. 'Scuse me, but I've been sitting on a chair just down the hall. Wanted to be nearby in case I was needed. Must've dozed off in an awkward position and got a kink in my back. Ah, that's better," he sighed.
He straightened up and turned to see three sets of eyes staring at him, a bit harshly.
"Fever finally broke," he thumbed over his shoulder at Abbets, speaking to them carefully as if he thought they couldn't comprehend Common. "Didn't expect it to take so long, but it did, so that bit's over, and he should be on the mend, now. I've got a tonic here," he rummaged in his sack, "Something to lend him a bit of vigor, get his heart pumping, blood flowing. Soon as he wakes, feed him hearty broth—I'll have the kitchen start on some. Then soft breads and cheeses and eggs, anything that doesn't require chewing. In a day or so, I'm sure you'll be able to tell when, expand his diet to other bland foods. He's lost a lot of strength, but he'll pull through, now."
"He'll…" Devensport's mouth kept forming words, but his voice was gone. He took a deep breath, staring at his friend, his comrade in arms, his former captain, and found his voice. "He did it."
"He did," Stitches nodded before looking at Cullen, "Now there's two of you." He pressed the bottle of tonic into Cullen's chest as he swept past him towards the door. "I'm off to get some sleep in a real bed tonight. And I'll stop at the kitchen on my way and let them know what's needed. We'll know for sure in a couple of days, but I've got confidence in the stubbornness of Templars." He paused beside the door to look back at them, but Peredura in particular, "He'll pull through; you'll see. 'Night, your Worship."
"Goodnight, Stitches," she answered automatically, barely turning her face, not wanting to take her eyes off of Abbets lest he would somehow slip away after all.
"He did it."
Cullen did turn away, to press his lips against Peredura's temple before answering Devensport. "Yes, he did it. He's done it. He's proven…" he paused to look at her, "That I wasn't an accident," he moved his gaze back to the bed and its occupant, "Or some random fluke. Abbets has proven that it can be done. That… there is hope for others, freedom from the chains."
It was silent for a count of three before a cheer split the air, almost shaking the furniture in the strength of its joy and triumph.
"Devensport!" Cullen barked at the over-loud guard.
"Sorry, Ser," he laughed, completely unrepentant, "But this is good news—too good of news. Can't keep it inside, can I. Commander," he snapped to attention and slapped off a smart salute, "Permission to share this with the others." The grin splitting his face was the only thing that marred his stature.
Peredura was shaking with a relieved sort of quiet laugh while the back of her hand wiped a tear off her cheek. She could well imagine the hard stare and dark scowl on Cullen's features over the man's disrespectful and irreverent appearing actions. "Permission granted," she gave the order, cutting Cullen off before he could dampen the mood.
"Ser!" Devensport nodded to her, quickly too lest the Commander say anything to the contrary. He spun on his heel and barely managed to get the door open before he was out in the hall, sharing the news with the two standing guard there first, before undoubtedly continuing to the barracks and the rest of her Honor Guard/former Templars/lyrium users.
Cullen shook his head, giving vent to his own relief through a soft chuckle. "Abbets hasn't even woken up yet, and he's become a legend."
"One of two," she reminded him, pecking his stubbled cheek. He turned his face before she could pull away, catching her lips with his own, deepening into a full kiss between them. Both his arms wrapped around her torso, melting her form against him. Both her hands held his head, her fingers burrowing deeply into his curls.
"…should be more discrete…"
The two broke away with a guilty start, first over the suddenness of another voice, then over their awkward reaction. As one, their heads turned towards the source of the sound. They hadn't been expecting it quite this soon, but the gruff rebuke definitely came from the bed.
"Albert?" Peredura called, her heart filling with even more hope.
The one hand lifted, wobbled a bit, then landed back on the blanket. "Don't kiss in front of the troops. Unbecoming of a leader." He lifted his head next, also a bit wobbly, and furrowed his brows at her. "Abbets, Ser."
There was a soft huff as his head fell back onto the pillows.
"I… what do you mean?" She shook her head as she slipped from Cullen's grasp to come around the side of the bed.
"Shouldn't call me by my given name. Too informal. Must maintain your standing in front of the men."
"Um, but Albert… I mean, Abbets," she argued, though obliging him, "We're not in front of the men or anyone else. It's just us, you, me, and Cullen."
Abbets blinked at her, moved his head around a bit, but his eyes didn't seem to focus. "No matter," he groused, "Not a good habit to have, is it."
"He's got a point," Cullen hummed, having come up behind her. "Habits can be dangerous. You may think it's harmless to call someone by his given name in private. But one slip in front of the wrong person, and the next day everyone will be calling him Captain Curly."
She giggled over his unwanted nickname, unable to help herself. The stress of the past week was bursting away from her like a broken dam, and with her emotions already in turmoil, it didn't take much to give her the chance to smile. "That's something Varric started, and he's not here. No, wait, he only uses Curly," her brow creased as she glanced up at Cullen, "Not 'Captain.' Where did…?"
Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering a particularly snarky, red-headed rogue back in Kirkwall… "Never mind."
Abbets' disoriented mind had already moved on to a new topic. His head swung back and forth, fruitlessly searching for something. Blinking in confusion, he turned to his Commander and asked, "Where's Devensport? Thought he promised to… stay with me."
"He's been here, I assure you," Cullen answered, "The whole time you've been ill. I couldn't pry him away with a crowbar. The only reason he's not here now is… well… erm…" He paused and scratched at the back of his head, unsure of how to explain it.
"He went to let the others know," Peredura finished, "The other Templars, that you did it. Your fever broke and you've survived your withdrawal. You will no longer need lyrium."
Abbets grunted again, his favorite form of communication, and dropped his head back onto the pillows. His brow furrowed and his lips drew themselves into a frown so deep the corners almost met each other beneath his chin.
"What is it?" Peredura reached his side in a heartbeat, fearing a relapse. "What's wrong? Are you in pain?"
"Devensport," he moaned. "Loves to spread good news, doesn't he. He'll have the whole Inquisition knowing about this by the end of the week. Ser," he lifted his face back to Cullen and tried to leverage himself onto his elbows, "Commander, Ser, I respectfully request that my first duty as your Lieutenant is to give that man a dressing down!"
Peredura looked as if she wanted to protest, but Cullen managed to step in ahead of her, only partially to get back at her for stepping in front of him with Devensport.
"Permission granted."
Author's Note: I'm sorry.
I've been away from this story for far too long. I have excuses, but they are only excuses, and they can't erase the time I've been away. All I can say is that I'm trying to focus all of my energies on this story and…
I'm sorry.