Chapter Twenty One
a/n: Ahhh, this story is winding down to an end but fear not, there are at least a few more chapters and then back to the awesome angsty that is Cullen/Amell when she arrives in Kirkwall after the Chantry explosion. That story is looking to be about ten chapters long and then . . . who knows. My story arch will be finished but perhaps there will be others. Somewhere. Thank you, everyone who has left kind words and helpful hints on this story. It is good to receive feedback!
It is strange to be a prisoner. Not just a kept mage but a legitimate and well ridiculed prisoner in the Circle Tower. They set her up in the cell Anders used to occupy. The metal is new and shiny and she is suffocating when they shove her through the room.
Once more her abilities are dulled and gone, lost at the edge of a thought. She sees two guards at all times and she thinks there's a few more that stand out of sight. Just to the outside. Watching.
Cullen is never one of these guards.
She's glad, really. Really really glad on a level that frightens her. Her smart and shy young man has been destroyed and the man that stands in his place is a very poor substitute for the real thing.
Solona burns through hours just thinking about what sort of life the two of them would have had if they'd been fortunate enough not to become mages and templars. How many happy, fat children would they have by now? What sort of scholar would she be and what would Cullen look like covered in dirt and sweat but still smiling sweetly for her when he returned from the field?
She shelves these day dreams only when she has visitors.
They are few. Irving, initially. He questions her ad nausea as well. She thinks he's sure that she had no part in the escape. In a show of the true place of power in this Tower he is unable to secure her freedom.
Etic is at her door daily. Unlike others he's actually allowed inside the cell and where before he was her watcher he is now her quasi-maid. It's Etic that changes her sheets and brings her fresh garments and holds up a blanket so she can change with a scrap of privacy. It is Etic who brings her food and tells her that he's looking for the person who really sprang Anders and when he does that he'll be able to set her free.
She wonders at his dedication. As his charge, she wants for nothing other than her freedom.
Petra comes by after the first few days. She asks if Solona would like to see the kids; if it would cheer Solona up Petra would fetch them right at that moment. "Absolutely not. Tell them I'm sick. I'll see them soon at any rate."
When she is alone save for the guards around her she materializes each of these wishes for her life and lays them out in her mind.
The first is always that kiss. That moment in the library that was so cruelly interrupted by Greagoir. She always imagines that they found a bed somewhere. Perhaps the one she'd had for those few short days right before Ostagar. Her own room and a templar of her own too.
In her dreams he's always slim yet extremely well-muscled. Lithe, she thinks. He knows that she's extremely ticklish behind her knees and she melts when he presses kisses behind her ear. She shivers in these moments and curls in tighter on herself. In her cell she floats away from the reality of her captivity.
She finds him in the halls during a particularly vivid encounter. She's fresh from bed; she needs a little late night reading material. She's slipping into the darkened library when his grip slides around her upper arms and he pulls her close. At her back his body is solid; his arms slide to her front and she is wrapped in his embrace.
Always he bends and whispers little nothings into her ear. I missed you. I love you.
I'm going to take you away.
His hands dip lower and press. She turns her face to his; her lips brush the edge of his jaw and her mouth opens with a gasp. His fingers are nubile as they part the folds of her robe. She feels the warmth of his touch and arches into it. It has been so long she thinks.
On her cold and unwelcoming mattress she brushes over herself. She is fully clothed and miserable yet these thoughts keep her warm during the long nights. She rolls over, her back to her guards, and falls back into her thoughts.
They are in her room. Her real and proper room on the third floor. There is a door and she is pressed against it; one of his legs rests heavily between hers. Her hands are pinned above her head and she pushes up against him.
Cullen is devious with his mouth. He starts behind her ear, picking up where they left off in the hall. Those lips she's spent years dreaming about trail to the place where her neck meets her shoulder and she feels him nibbling there. A tongue is swirled across that delicate skin.
The pressure on her core shifts and she is suddenly filled with the most delicious sensation. It is wet and slick; it's slightly uncomfortable actually yet she knows that this is right. She is dripping with the want of him. And he should know. She rocks her hips forward, her own thigh pushing against his already forming erection.
Cullen gasps. The sound sends shivers down her body; the hair of her arms is standing on end when she takes advantage of his momentary distraction. Her wrist turns over and she snags his arm. Grabs hold and pulls it down. Down her body and back to the place where he'd been so eager to explore earlier in this fantasy.
She wears no robes now. Nothing to part and delve within. Simply her skin against the cloth of his breeches.
When he slips a finger inside of her, meeting no resistance, she screams his name and holds tight.
They are on the bed and he is braced over her. Strong arms frame her peripheral view and his smile brackets the world above her. Her legs are wrapped tight around his waist. When he pushes inside of her his eyes widen and she feels the stretch that is Cullen. Her body accepts this new fullness and she has to throw her head back. Her throat is bared; she is at the mercy of his mouth once more.
Cullen begins to move.
She curls in tighter on herself. Hands clenched fast between her thighs she tries as hard as she can not to cry. She starts to shake from the effort.
When she gives up and sprawls on her back the guards don't even look at her. They ignore her tears and her sorrow. They'll tell stories in the morning: that crazy broken mage is diddling herself and then crying about it. Maybe she's sad her lover left her behind; it was awfully mean of Anders to just ditch her here.
Wasn't it?
~!~
By the end of the fourth month in the dungeon she's learned all of her jailors' names and their favorite songs. The songs thing was pretty hit or miss; she sang everything she knew and when they complained she sang even louder. When they enjoyed a tune and sometimes hummed along quietly she muddled the words and the melodies making them unenjoyably. Her little revolt behind bars: musical warfare.
She finds out that Cullen has left the Tower and this is when the dreams stop, abruptly. She hears from a guard who heard from the cook who overheard Greagoir that Cullen has been shipped off to Denerim. For training. The gossiping templar sneers and makes a fancy hand gesture that Solona imagines is the male symbol for touching oneself.
The both of them look back at her after that and laugh. Her face burns and she tries to slide down within her clothing. If she could get her head into her robes she could disappear.
There isn't enough fabric in Thedas that could disguise her embarrassment though and the men know it. There's a long discussion that follows about the sorts of training templars could get up to in the Capital. Most of it she can tune out but when one chortles about the games that are played at a brothel (The Templar and the Apostate) she starts singing. She sings at the top of her lungs and changes all the words and a song about a long lost love becomes the tale of a murderous mage who escapes her cage and torments those who kept her locked up.
She's never been a good singer.
The men yell back and throw things and finally a guard from the front door hears the racket and comes to investigate. It is just her luck that it happens to be Ser Etic and as soon as she sees him she shuts her mouth and sits down.
He takes one look at the pair of them, still jeering, and her defiant gesture before waving the others out the door. "Go guard the entrance for a bit. You're disturbing the prisoner."
"Oi! She's disturbing us more with that racket!" Etic sticks a finger under this one's nose and repeats his command. He outranks them; they beat a hasty retreat and she comes to sit by the door. He opens it and she wants to jump at him. He'd hug her and tell her everything would be all right.
But she knows now that it won't be. It'll never be okay again.
Etic has spent all of the days she's been locked up telling her everything would be okay, in the end. She'd believed him.
Now he watches her for a moment before making his way to her side. There is no furniture in the cell and he sits on the ground next to her. She swears she can hear his joints creak even over the clank of his armor. "They told you about Cullen, didn't they?"
She doesn't face him. Her eyes are fixed on the small point of light, the only window, far on the other side of the room. It is the only source of bearings she has when it comes to day and night. It has counted out the mornings, noons, and nights for her for weeks. Months. Years it seems. She stares it down, hoping it would hold more meaning.
"He left a few weeks ago. Greagoir is sending him to train as a mage hunter at his request." This is surprising. She processes for a moment and blinks away the curiosity. Cullen, her Cullen, is dead.
"The end is near for the war. Either the Wardens will raise their army or we'll all be gone. Dead or hiding out farther North. The Knight Commander wants Cullen as far away from the fighting as possible." Here he pauses at length. She holds her breath and waits for the next words. "I have no idea why, not really, but I imagine he feels bad for the lad."
And now Etic is the one that reaches out and pulls close. He is sitting next to her yet when his arm comes around her shoulders he tugs and she sprawls over his lap. There is nothing sexual about this embrace and she winds her arms around his neck. His armor is cold against her face.
"He hasn't been right. Not since Greagoir finished- "
"Finished what?" Her eyes are stuck on Etic's face now.
His own are sad as he looks down and shakes his head. "Never you mind. Just know that he'll be safe, wherever he ends up. And so will you. I promise."
It is the last time she allows anyone to instill any sort of comfort into her soul for a very long while.