So this idea came to me while watching The Notebook and playing Dragon Age: Origins, and I just couldn't help myself, despite the fact that I was already working on another fic. I'm not intending for this one to be super long, though. Hope you enjoy!
"Are you alright? Say something, please..."
An annoyingly insistent voice roused Solona Amell from a deep slumber. She stirred sluggishly, fighting to open eyes that were still laden with sleep. Her body felt strangely heavy as she sat up, and she became vaguely aware that she had fallen asleep still wearing her apprentice robes. Squinting in the flickering orange glow of candlelight, Solona searched for the owner of the offending voice, her unfocused eyes barely able to make out the face of the blurred form standing over her.
"Jowan?" she croaked, sleepily. Her tongue felt thick and clumsy as she spoke, voice barely making its way out of her parched and scratchy throat. Solona brought her hands to her face to try to rub the sleep from her tired eyes.
"I'm glad you're alright," he answered, soundly sincerely relieved. Solona's fatigued mind was having a difficult time understanding why Jowan would be expressing so much concern. She watched him as he bent to examine her, studying the prominent shadows the candlelight cast upon his gaunt cheeks. "They carried you in this morning. I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night. I've heard about apprentices who never come back from Harrowings. Is it really that dangerous? What was it like?"
At his words, memories of the previous evening came flooding back as the haze of sleep finally started to clear from her head. Late last night as she was preparing for bed, she had been summoned to the Harrowing chamber. The Knight-Commander and First Enchanter had been waiting for her with a small complement of Templars in case she succumbed to the temptations offered to her by the demons that occupied the Fade and became an abomination. Despite having been caught unaware of and unprepared for the secret ritual, Solona had entered the bizarre and twisted dream realm that was the Fade and successfully completed her Harrowing. Reflecting upon it now, she almost couldn't believe that she had truly done it. She was now a fully harrowed mage.
"It was...harrowing," she replied after a moment's pause, feeling rather clever as she gave him her evasive answer. Jowan's face fell, disappointment written clearly upon his grim features.
"Is that why they don't tell us what it's about? I know I'm not supposed to know...but we're friends. Just a little hint, and I'll stop asking, I promise!"
"Patience. You'll go through it soon enough."
Despite her dismissal of the subject, Jowan rambled on about the Harrowing before shifting the conversation to the unnerving subject of tranquility. He confided in her his fear that he would be made Tranquil instead of being given the opportunity to pass his Harrowing, but Solona dismissed his unease as baseless. It was only natural for a mage to fear the Rite of Tranquility. As he continued on and on about Owain, the Tranquil mage working in the stockroom, Solona started to feel her patience wearing paper thin. She gave a weary sigh, and Jowan replied with an apologetic shrug of the shoulders.
"I shouldn't waste your time with this. I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up."
"What for?" she all but demanded, interest piqued. Hadn't he thought it important to bring this up in the first place? Irving was the First Enchanter after all, and as such, head of the Fereldan Circle of Magi.
"He didn't tell me. About the Harrowing, I'd guess, but you never know with Irving. You'd better not keep him waiting. We can speak later."
Deciding to follow this advice not to keep the First Enchanter waiting, Solona bid a hasty farewell to her friend and hurriedly made her way out of the apprentice quarters and toward the stairs leading to the second floor, doing her best to dodge both peers and mentors alike as they attempted to stop and congratulate her on a successful Harrowing. Wending her way through the cluttered shelves and apprentices practicing their magical abilities in the library, she had but to climb the stairs to enter the mages' quarters. Before she could begin her ascent, however, she was pulled aside by a tittering, brunette apprentice.
"I heard Cullen's in love with you!" she gasped excitedly through fits of poorly suppressed giggles. Solona gave the gossiping young woman a small smile and excused herself politely, all while hoping desperately that her face wasn't quite as red as it felt. She heaved a faint sigh, wishing there could be even the slightest ounce of truth behind the girl's words.
Ser Cullen was incredibly kind, even to the mages, which was unusual for a Templar. He kept a reasonably professional distance between himself and his charges, but that did not prevent him from being pleasant and friendly. He was young, maybe twenty or so, and rather handsome, with softly curling golden locks that he styled as neatly as he could and an adorably shy smile. His endearingly bashful nature was the very best thing about him, in Solona's opinion at least. He was always stuttering nervously whenever he spoke to her. It made it easy for her to believe his overtures of friendship were sincere and without any ulterior motives.
She was lost in daydreamy thoughts of Cullen, her slippered feet carrying her up the stairs and through Owain's stockroom as she continued on her way through to meet with the First Enchanter. Her footfalls echoed softly off the curved stone walls as she walked. It was so much quieter in the mages' quarters than it was in the apprentice quarters.
Room after room passed from her view as she continued through the circular hallway, until she spotted the resolute figure of a lone templar standing against the wall between the entryways of the Chantry and the First Enchanter's office. His aurulent curls stood out brightly against the bleak grey of the wall, and Solona felt herself blush a delicate shade of pink as she recalled the silly apprentice's rumors concerning the man standing in front of her. She watched him for a brief moment before his amber eyes alighted upon her and approached him with a demure smile.
"Oh, um, h-hello. I...uh, am glad to see your Harrowing went smoothly," he stammered at her approach, tilting his head slightly in greeting. His silver armor glistened orange in the lambent torchlight, as he nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"Hello, Cullen," she replied serenely, despite the fact that her heart was beating a rapid tattoo against the inside of her chest.
"Th-they picked me as the Templar to strike the killing blow if...if you became an abomination. I-It's nothing personal; I swear!" he continued on awkwardly. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments before his gaze flitted away uncomfortably. "I...uh, I'm just glad you're all right. You know."
Solona couldn't keep her smile from widening a bit as she detected the genuine note of relief in his rich voice. Was it just friendly concern, or was there truth to the gossip she had heard after all? Before she could think better of it, she had asked the question.
"Would you really have struck me down?"
"I would have felt terrible about it…But...But I serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I am commanded."
Solona wasn't disappointed by his answer in the least. His sense of duty was commendable, and she found it only endeared him to her more. After all, he had admitted that he would have felt regret if he had been forced to...well she didn't want to think about that. Something in her felt emboldened by his admission of relief and gladness for her well-being coupled with the apprentice's rumor.
"Maybe we could go elsewhere and...continue our discussion?" she purred, hoping she sounded at least a little seductive as she fluttered her dark eyelashes. She had never actually propositioned a man before, and she wasn't certain she would even know what to do if he accepted her offer. After all, Cullen was the only man in which she had ever had any sort of interest.
"Elsewhere? What do you mean?" he inquired with a nervous chuckle, sounding even more naive than Solona had ever thought possible.
"I've seen the way you look at me…," she trailed off, giving him as suggestive a look as she could muster, hoping desperately all the while that the rumor she had heard minutes ago was more than just that. But, her hopes were quickly dashed. The horrified look on his face was all the answer she needed, but he spoke the words anyway.
"Oh, my goodness. If you're saying...what I think...that would be really...inappropriate and...I couldn't. I...I should go."
And then he was gone, having all but sprinted away from her. She could feel her cheeks burning red with humiliation. She pushed back the stinging tears threatening to fall from her eyes at the blatant rejection and continued to the First Enchanter's office, wishing she could completely forget the conversation that had just transpired between Cullen and herself.
x.X.x
Solona sighed at the memory as her mind wandered once again to a certain handsome, young Templar. She preferred this memory of him to the recollection of his confessed infatuation. That particular memory was tainted by the demons that had twisted his feelings for her into something unbearable, while this memory of Cullen was before such horrors had befallen him. In spite of his rejection at the time, she reflected upon this interaction with fondness. But it had happened in a time before blights, civil wars and archdemons, a time when she was younger and much more innocent, a time before Alistair and the Grey Wardens.
Her gaze traveled to the man snoring softly beside her inside their small, canvas tent. It was strange making camp with only Alistair at her side. Now that the Archdemon was slain and Anora safely in possession of Ferelden's throne, she and her fellow Grey Warden were free to do whatever they wished with their time, for a little while, at least. Eventually they would report to the Grey Wardens of Orlais for further instruction, but for now they were basking in the relative peace that had come with their victory.
She leaned down and placed a gentle kiss upon Alistair's brow, grateful to have him by her side. Thanks to Morrigan and her...uncomfortable ritual, Solona had been able to return to his arms after the final assault against the Blight. Alistair had lost so much already; his mother, Duncan, any chance of having any sort of family ties with his horrible "sister" Goldanna. She did not want him to have to suffer yet another loss, but she never would have allowed him to sacrifice himself in her stead. For all her admirable qualities, when it came to matters of the heart, Solona was nothing if not a selfish woman, and she would not have been left to suffer life without him.
Still, her love for Alistair could not keep her mind from wandering to thoughts of Cullen every now and again. A few days ago, before they had left Denerim, she had dreamt of the Templar and had been dwelling upon his fate ever since. She wondered if he still harbored his intense hatred against all mages or if he had managed to overcome the inner demons left behind by the abominations. Had he even survived the blight at all? For some reason beyond her comprehension, Solona felt compelled to discover the answer to these questions.
"Why are you not sleeping, my love?" Alistair mumbled groggily, interrupting her thoughts. He draped a well-muscled arm around her waist and pulled her close to his chest. "There are no more nightmares to keep us awake."
"Yes, you are right," she sighed, snuggling backward into the firm expanse of muscle pressed against her bare back with a smile. She loved the feeling of his warm flesh against hers and the security she found within his arms. With that final contented thought lingering in her mind, Solona drifted off into a peaceful slumber, held tightly in Alistair's strong yet gentle arms.
x.X.x
The sun had just began its daily ascent over the Fereldan horizon when Solona woke. Taking care not to disturb Alistair's rest as she dressed, she rose from the tent. The sunrise had painted the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink as it climbed over the jagged outline of the Dragons Peak mountain range. The loud, cheerful chirps of small birds filled the morning air as they flitted playfully amongst the thick copse of hickory and oak trees surrounding the campsite. Solona watched them weave between the lush, leaf-laden branches with skillful ease as they flew seeming to chase after one another.
They were only a few days outside Denerim, having just left the city after weeks of celebrating the end of the Blight and repairing much of the damage that had been done to the city during the final onslaught. Solona hadn't wanted to stay as long as they did, but Alistair seemed intent on helping those less fortunate or less capable with rebuilding both their homes and their lives. How could she say no to that? He was so kind-hearted, always putting others before himself. He would have made a truly good king, if only he had wanted the responsibility.
However, the selfish part of her was glad that he had not wanted to lay claim to the Fereldan throne. If Alistair had become king, their relationship would have been all but over. No one would have approved of his marrying a mage, and she would not have been content as nothing more than his lover, especially when it came to things such as producing an heir. The idea of him laying with Morrigan had been bad enough, and Solona did not think she could stand undergoing the hardship of her Alistair laying with yet another woman who was not her.
It wasn't long before Alistair rose, the pleasant aroma of breakfast rousing him from his heavy slumber. He lumbered out of their tent sleepily in naught but his trousers, a habit of his that Solona very much enjoyed. He was certainly athletic, as Leliana had once rather tactfully put it, and was quite pleasing to the eye.
"Good morning, my dear," he yawned, stretching his arms over his head before taking a seat next to her on a stout log set by the campfire. "I'm glad someone else is doing the cooking for once."
"Yes, well, I'd prefer my sense of taste to remain intact," she taunted with a playful smirk. "I would've cooked meals more often if we hadn't been traveling with so many people."
"I almost miss the company," he said with a wistful sigh, an expression of nostalgia crossing his features. "Except for Morrigan, of course. Could do without her next time."
Solona stiffened at the mention of the witch's name. She knew that Alistair had wanted nothing to do with the woman, but she still could not help feeling a small twinge of resentment toward the situation. After all, Alistair was the only man she had ever been with. It was only natural to want to be the only woman he had ever been with. But their lives were far more important than a meaningless, ritualistic dalliance that he had only agreed to for her sake. He leaned over and tucked a long, wavy strand of flaxen hair behind her ear, stroking her cheek softly with the back of his fingers in the process.
"I'm sorry. I said the bad name again, didn't I?" he muttered, half-teasing, half-ashamed. Guilt overwhelmed her as she realized how she must be making him feel. It wasn't as though he had wanted to lay with Morrigan, and she had been the one who made the request of him.
"You're fine, Alistair," she murmured, giving him a warm smile. She pressed her mouth to his in a chaste, but loving kiss to reassure him that she wasn't upset.
They ate their breakfast in companionable silence, enjoying the peace to which they were still so unaccustomed. It was nice being able to take their time pulling up camp, instead of rushing around all of Ferelden as they had been doing for the past year and some months. The leisure time felt almost sacred. Finally, sometime around mid morning, Solona broke the surrounding stillness.
"So, I've had a thought. I was wondering if you would mind traveling to Highever to honor Duncan on your own," she began, speaking slowly. His brows furrowed into an expression of confused disapproval. "I'd like a chance to visit Kinloch Hold to check on some old friends."
"I hate the idea of being parted so soon after defeating the Blight," Alistair pouted, his full, bottom lip jutting out slightly. Solona could detect a hint of hurt behind his light brown eyes, which seemed to silently whine, 'but you promised you'd go with me.' "Can't you just come with me to Highever, now? When we've finished there, we can go visit your mage friends."
"I'd like to see if there's anyway I can help rebuild the Circle now the Blight has ended. Once you're finished honoring Duncan's memory in Highever, you can meet me at the Tower. We won't be apart for long, I promise, my love," she assured him gently. She scooted closer to him, leaning against him and tenderly resting her head upon his still bare shoulder. "Just as you feel you must pay your respects to Duncan, this is something I must do."
"I guess I understand. Oh, all right," he huffed reluctantly. Solona felt her insides twist at the crestfallen expression upon Alistair's face, but she felt she needed to visit the Tower as soon as possible to put her thoughts of Cullen to rest. She just needed to know that he had survived, that he was doing all right, so that his image would stop haunting her dreams.
