Chapter Nine

That evening she looks over her possessions and considers. What does one bring, when they're about to march away from the only home they've known for the majority of their life? Going to war. What a terrifying statement. Could she be able to face down enemies and strike them dead? She thinks not. She'll only get herself killed and others along with her. Irving has a strange sense of punishment, it seems, sending her off to die for her knowledge of Jowan's dalliances.

The thought that she'll survive never crosses her mind.

She has a death sentence hanging over her head.

The laughter of Neria and Keili fills the room as the two appear in her doorway. She's seen precious little of her friends in the last seven days. She may have plenty of time but they still have lessons. Their smiles lift her spirits and she greets them both with hugs.

"You're never going to believe this, Lona."

Neria always jumps to the best piece of gossip she can find. There's no preamble with this one. "You said that before, you know, about my Harrowing and you were wrong."

The elf poo's and pah's at her as she throws herself across Solona's bed. Keili takes a seat at the vanity; the two of them are breathless with grins. "Well, you won't have heard this one. You're all cut off up here, you know. Would it kill you to come say hi? We had to talk our way past seven templars just to see you. Including that ginger one that hangs out in the library, hoping you'll grace him with a smile." Neria is teasing; Solona reddens anyway at the mention of Cullen. She's been avoiding that particular templar after her time in the Fade.

"If there's a point Neria, please feel free to come to it."

The elf sticks her tongue out and instantly she's forgiven. Solona can't help but laugh at her friend's antics. "Well, I was cleaning the boy's dorms today, I hate getting stuck with maid duty, and I found a letter. For Jowan. I think I figured out why he's been so absent minded lately."

She pauses and cups a hand over her mouth as though she could stop the giggling. "I think he's in love."

Solona's hand still, the fabric of one of her new robes she's folding hanging from now-limp fingers. They know about the lay sister? No! Irving will kill them, or make them tranquil. Or force their Harrowings and send them off to fight with her. A protective urge swells within her as she asks, delicately, "Do you know who the girl is?"

There is relief when the elf sighs and flops to her back in defeat. "No. Not a clue. But! This is fabulous. That ridiculous boy, in love! Imagine the hilarity; him waxing poetic and falling over himself. I tell ya, I hope I don't move up here with you too soon. I wouldn't want to miss the fireworks!"

"Oh Neria. Don't be so cruel." There's laughter in Keili's voice as well but a small amount of judgment. Keili subscribes to the more uptight and mainstream ideas of the Chantry's ideas about love and mages. In specific the idea that mages don't love, not ever. Solona has argued with her before about policy.

At the top of the tower the bell tolls the hour and Keili jumps up. "Time for evening prayers. Are you two coming?" Solona is tempted to join but just shakes her head. Neria laughs at the suggestion and Keili glares at her for a moment before leaving.

This seems to be just what Neria was waiting for. She sits up and pulls a letter from somewhere in her bodice. "I found another note too. This was sitting on your old bunk a few days ago." She waves the parchment teasingly and Solona snatches it out of her hand. Her name is printed on the front in unsure letters. "Open it!"

The look Solona passes along to the elf says not gonna happen. It could be from Jowan, after all. And she has no wish to drag Neria into that problem. "I'll read it later. You should really get back down stairs though."

Dramatically, as she always does things, Neria rolls from the bed and comes to her feet. "If it's from Cullen, I expect to hear all about it. He looked down right terrified when he carried you down from the Harrowing Chamber. Been moping around the feast hall too, always looking around. I take it you haven't . . . consummated anything?"

"Get out Neria." She has no malice in her tone but it brokers no argument. Neria leaves with a wink and a wiggle of her fingers.

Cullen . . . carried her here? She vaguely remembers someone holding her and the cold metal of their body. It must have been him. The soft voice that reassured her echoes in her mind. You're going to be okay. She can feel the blush climbing up her neck at the thought of him . . . of her and him. She told him she didn't want to lose his friendship.

The paper rips in her haste to open the missive Neria has brought and Solona curses her clumsiness before holding the pieces back together. It is short.

Solona,

I hope you've recovered. I wanted to come to you, just to see if everything was okay but after what happened during your Harrowing I was afraid you wouldn't want to see me. I'm sorry about your throat. I was frightened. I should have known you'd make it through.

I really do appreciate your understanding of the position I'm in but I miss you.

I'll be at the library this week on overnight duty.

-C

There are smudges around that last line as though the writer had hesitated too long and too much ink had run from their quill. It doesn't take a genius, or a fastidious researcher, to know that this letter is from Cullen and he has intentionally told her where he'll be. She scolds him mentally; leaving a letter like this where she no longer sleeps . . . it's a miracle it was only Neria that found it. She doesn't dwell on that though. Instead, she considers his words again.

He wants her to come see him.

She should burn it. Really, she should. For both their sakes. She can't bring herself to destroy it though; just the thought of him writing her like this makes her stomach flip. She folds the letter back up, mindful of the now multiple pieces, and buries it deep in her wardrobe.

With the perceived death sentence hanging over her head all of her earlier worries about ruining a friendship with him flies away. She will be dead soon, after all. She no longer sees the point in maintaining her distance.

She takes her time washing. The water, warm from her fire spell, feels oddly stimulating as it courses down her body. She uses a scented soap that Enchanter Leorah had presented to her a few days prior as congratulations on passing her Harrowing. It is Orlesian, the elf had claimed, and smells like flowers. She hopes Cullen will like it.

Her nicest robes are donned; she leaves off the small clothes. She wishes, as she brushes her hair, that she'd grown it out. Long hair is a sign of fertility and desirability according to the Lun of northern Antiva. Fertility is not so much an issue, but she could stand to look a little more womanly, she thinks.

Her footsteps are tentative as she makes her way down the stairs to the second floor. Midnight is just passed; the few men she passes standing duty don't even acknowledge her. There is nothing they could say; she's allowed to be out at this time of night. However, as she approaches the library, her steps slow. A moment of indecision hits her. What is she doing, really? She might not care about what's going to happen in a year, she won't be around, but Cullen will. Maker willing he'll be around for a while.

Can she really do this to him? He cares for her, deeply. He might even love her. She thinks back to a week ago, before she'd gone into the Fade. He had kissed her with such a sweet innocence. Has he ever lain with a woman before? Most likely not. She could very well be his first love; how does one recover from a loss like that to a Darkspawn invasion?

She can't do this to him. She needs to go, before he sees her. Before she fuels whatever hopes he might have. Solona is muttering to herself, calling herself foolish for even thinking this was a good idea.

Her feet turn her around.

And bring her face to face with the man himself. "Cullen!" He wears no helm. Rather than cold metal greeting her it's his smile and his bright eyes that seem impossibly full of promise.

"You came. I . . . I didn't think you would, but here you are." He sounds breathless and pleased.

Well, shit.

The urge to flee is almost overwhelming. It's becoming a frequent occurrence and it frightens her. She should be brave now, Harrowed Mage that she is. Cullen looks around and steps in close. When his lips brush hers, that wonderful tentativeness still present, she can't help but sigh in happiness. The contact lasts for only a moment before he leans back from her.

She still has time to back out, she thinks. All the time in world, it feels like. She can end this and save him the heartache of losing her. The way he looks at her, with reverence and affection, is unmistakable, though. He wants her. Despite anything that she might be. Warmth pools in her stomach and an ache begins to fill her. She could bath in his sight forever.

They meet half way this time with mouths searching for an absolution, forgiveness, from this duel attraction. There's so much between them and yet it is just them. Has only ever just him and her and this glide of lips against lips. She could love him; she could make him happy. Her hands slide up to his shoulders and it's too much, all too much. The immediacy of her future is howling at her, still, in the back of her mind. She pulls herself away and draws air deep into her lungs. She really can't do this to him. When he leans in to kiss her again she turns away. His face scrunches up in confusion; even this looks particularly appealing in its own way.

"What's wrong?"

Solona steels her resolution. She must, at least, explain what's happened to her, where she's going. She has to make him understand why she can't . . . can't what? Love him? Kiss him? She might need answers herself about this predicament. "I have to tell you something. Important." The hallway is still quiet but she doesn't trust it. "But not here. Come on." His gauntlet is cool in her hand as she pulls him into the library and back to her favorite corner.

He opens her mouth to speak but she shakes her head. She needs him to just . . . listen. "Irving told me there's a war coming, another Blight." His eyes widen and he opens his mouth to say something. Still, she signals for his silence. "He's sending me to help the King's army. He thinks my knowledge of the Darkspawn, probably all the time I spend reading up on the dwarves actually, could be helpful during the fighting."

"But, you're a brand new mage. He can't send you into a war. It's ridiculous."

She will not tell him about this being her punishment. Despite the arms that come up to hold her after her revelation, he is a templar. She can't be sure he won't make a fuss and get Jowan into more trouble. She doesn't like withholding the truth; yet it is a necessity. "I can't explain his reasoning but I have to accept to decision. I'm a mage of the Circle of Ferelden. I have to do as I'm bid." The words of Duty spring into her mind. Cullen's face drops at her description of herself.

"When do you leave?" It sounds like he's choking on the words.

"Two days from now."

Cullen looks beyond her, back into the library. With his thinking face on his face is closed, yet still so very handsome. And when he does that thing, with his lip, where he bites gently while working through a problem in his head . . . it impacts that ache in her core and it almost hurts how badly she wants him. Her eyes fix on the spot where his jaw meets his neck. The desire to taste the skin there is almost overwhelming.

"But, you'll be back and then-"

"No, I don't think I will be." As serious as she's ever been in her life, she shakes her head and she wants to cry. She's too young to die, really.

Horror and denial flash in his eyes. "No. You'll be fine. I know you will. You made it through your Harrowing. I was there. You won't die. Maybe . . . maybe I'll get assigned to go with you. I could protect you!" And that right there is why she thinks she might love him. Optimism at its most earnest. It's a fair point though, she has to admit.

"That would . . . be wonderful. I don't know if they'll let you."

"I'll make Greagoir. He won't have a choice. It's my job to keep you safe." Such conviction for her. Because of her. Solona presses her face to that spot she's been eyeing and she slides her arms around his metal chest. "I won't lose you. Everything is going to be okay." He presses his lips to her temple; the contact makes her stomach flip again. "You're going to be okay."

Her lips meet his; thank you for believing in me. Their kiss deepens. One hand is raised; she cups his cheek. The small groan the springs from his throat is like fire in her blood. Gauntlets are discarded; he brings his hands up and around her waist. His touch is warm through her robes. There is far too much clothing and metal between the two of them.

Cullen backs her into a table and lifts her, settling her firmly on the wood and stepping between her legs. The dull bite of the metal at the tender flesh there only further drives her passion. She clamps down on his armored thighs and pulls him in closer. The contact there is delicious and she is the one that lets loose a moan; a sigh a happiness. She nods against his mouth as he shifts his hands to the front of her robes.

She is wet from this; she can feel it and the thought that it was him . . . just kissing and some rather innocent petting. This makes her head swim which makes her groan which makes him smile in response and unlace her bodice a little farther before exploring the skin he finds with delicate fingertips. Solona is desperate. She wants him. Inside of her. Now.

As she opens her mouth to demand he take off his armor, she'll be damned if she can figure it out with the mess that is her brain at that moment, the sharp steps of metal boots sound in the hallway. The noise doesn't even really register with her until it's almost in the door way to the library. They both hear, both understand it, the moment that the voice rings out, searching for him.

"Ser Cullen, why have you abandoned your post?" The sour tones of the Knight-Commander echo in the empty library. They freeze at the sound, still wrapped around each other as they are. Please, just let him keep walking, she pleads with the Maker. Cullen's eyes are wide with fear; she can't even muster a smile of reassurance. Her eyes are full of terror as well. The steps stop at the door and then turn into the room. The two of them, even swallowed by the shadows, are still in visible. Solona watches over Cullen's shoulder as Greagoir pauses in mid-stride when he sees them and she watches his face turn to fury.

"What are you doing here?" He does not yell.

Cullen disengages himself as delicately as possible; she wants to hold onto him. Hiding behind him here she's protected. And loved. And hang Greagoir if he tries to take that away from them. This sudden determination vanishes at the unsure tones Cullen uses to try and explain why they're here. Why he's here, in a dark corner of the library, with her. Nothing of substance. Just stammering and Cullen truly sounds petrified.

Greagoir orders the both of them into the light and inspects them from top to bottom. Solona is still tightening the laces on her robe as she comes out behind Cullen. There can be no doubt in Greagoir's mind as to what the two of them were engaged in.

"Ser Cullen." Cullen straightens, back straight and eyes forward. "You are relieved from duty for the evening. Go back to the dorms. In the morning you will report to my office before breakfast."

Cullen doesn't even look at her, doesn't say goodbye, as he marches out of the room. Solona watches him go, heaviness in her heart. Greagoir steps into her line of sight and that heaviness turns cold. "As for you. What do you think you're doing, messing around with one of my men? We are not your friends; we're certainly not around to be your playthings." Now, now, his voice rises. His face looms ever closer with each sentence. "We should have made you Tranquil when you first showed up on the doorstep and let you live your life re-shelving books."

Quickly as she can see him, Greagoir reaches his hand back and strikes her across the cheek. Her head snaps back and Solona falls to the floor. She remains conscious, but only just. Her head swims. "I-" It's hard to think. She needs to come up with something quick. He could beat her to death and no one would ever say anything against him.

"You what? You're a failure and a murderer? That much is clear. You're a whore? That much is clear! You're sorry? You don't look sorry. You look like a child whose toy has just been taken away. Petulant. That's what you are." He reaches down and grabs her by the front of her robes. With a tug she is dangling in the air now as his knuckles dig painfully into her upper chest. "I would kill you here, but you've already got a death sentence. Ostagar will kill you for me, if I'm lucky."

One last sneer is the only warning she gets before Greagoir hurls her to his feet. Solona cannot find the will to talk back.

"You're going to stay in your room until you depart. I'll stand watch outside your door myself if I have to. Now, get up and get walking." She is slow to rise and he just picks her back up again. With his hand at her back Solona is pushed out of the room and back upstairs.

-!-

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