May the Maker Watch Over You
Chapter 6
A/N: This chapter flew by compared to the last. I'm so happy with this chapter. So many good things are happening. Hopefully Chapter 7 will come through in a week or so, but I am currently head deep in graduate courses, so updates may become slower. I will try my best to get things out...but I'm not going to make promises. I wanted to thank my readers, especially those who have reviewed, favorited, followed: Rynadrin, Kyla Baines, and veezy713. Please be sure to leave a review after reading. I love to hear from my readers!
I do not own Dragon Age, it all belongs to Bioware.
Inspiration: Lindsey Stirling's music video Crystallize, Dragon Age: Inquisition Rocky Rescue and Champions of the Just, Dragon Age: Origins, Fort Drakon, Dragon Age: Amaranthine, Ed Shee's I See Fire, Rite of Tranquility, Dragon Age II, Spirit of Justice, "The heart wants what is wants-or else it does not care," Emily Dickinson
Cullen couldn't remember a time when he felt so cold. The wind blew constantly, the gusts freezing to the core. Pacing next to the open flame, he hoped the warmth would move into his heavy limbs. They had arrived in Emprise du Lion, encountering the desolate village, Sahrnia. The people were reserved, wandering the crumbled stucco buildings in a comatose state. They were distrustful, clinging to their children as the Inquisition soldiers moved through the village, offering food and hot cider to the villagers. Nearly starving and frozen, the Commander wondered when was the last time these people had outside communication.
Leaning over the map, he searched for their next path. Lady Trevelyan had left with a Varric, Blackwall and Solas, closing rifts, destroying red lyrium veins and looking for evidence of Grey Warden activity. He had silently wished the Inquisitor would have taken Dorian, Cole or Alistair. The mage whine about the weather, the food, the scenery, anything he could think about. Cole...was Cole, appearing abruptly mumbling thoughts that should never be voiced and then disappearing out of thin air. Alistair on the other hand had remained silent wandering the grounds, sharpening his blade. The camaraderie he imagined the Grey Wardens had was absent. Alistair refused to be near Blackwall as they had traveled, rather hunkering near the camp fire glaring at the darker haired warrior.
Running his hand through his hair, he sighed. Rumor spread that many villagers were being held in the Sahrina Quarry by Red Templars. Others said that Suledin Keep was being held by a demon and more templars, doing experiments on creatures from the Emerald Graves. Whatever the case, both locations needed to be investigated and freed from the Red Templar's possession.
Rummaging through his pockets, he pulled out the delicate crystal container, running his thumb along the grooved edges. The liquid inside was dark, but Cullen could still feel the magic inside. Closing his eyes, he could feel her nearby, a muffled pulse of magic vibrating in the chilled air. Wherever she was, it was leaving her with little access of the Fade. It worried him.
"The fire is hot against her face, but she will not hesitate. The blade is heavy, unfamiliar. Her legs are heavy like iron, but she must run. She can't let him get there first," Cole mutters, perched on the desk. "The words finally make sense in her mind…'In death, sacrifice.'"
He stiffens at the words. He remembered seeing them engraved on a silver cup far away from here. He remember those words as he brushed his hand against a sword, Ashiva's sword. Cullen refused to think about those grim thoughts, only focusing on the task at hand.
"Gasping, trying to find air. There is so little here," the boy continues, head clutched in his head. "'It hurts, it hurts. Make it stop.' She walks, crawls across the stone, knees scratched, hands raw. 'I won't let you have me.'"
"That's enough Cole," Cullen pleads, head pounding. He didn't realize until he stayed in the this wasteland how drained he felt. The lyrium sang to him. He hadn't slept through the night, his left hand twitched, stomach cramped. The red lyrium tempted him with peace he sought. He wanted to hit something, scream, anything but hear it call to him.
"It bothers him too," Cole whispered, moving to sit on the ground. "The warden's skin crawls. He can hear the song. It calls him, beckons him to sleep, to rest. He has killed the darkspawn and sealed the keep forever, yet he still hears it."
"It isn't natural," Alistair explains, stepping forward, face taut, like a rope in a game of tug of war. Cullen wondered when the string would break. "I know lyrium has qualities like this...but it has never sounded like this to me. It is too much like-"
The man paused, rubbing his chin in thought. He looked at Cullen, blue eyes hard and cold like the icicles they found on the Bone Tower. "Can I have a word with you," Alistair asks, glaring at the rouge beside him. "Alone."
With a sigh, the commander moved away from his map the pieces laid about like a chess board. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tight muscles there. "I assume you have something to tell me."
Alistair was frustrated. He was familiar with the rigid posture and the constant movement. "We have been here for two days and we have not taken action to search for her," he growled between his teeth. "I know the rifts are important, but shouldn't we be helping these missing people? Ashiva could be one of them!"
"Yes, but rushing in won't help matters," Cullen remarked. "The Inquisitor is doing her best to weaken the Red Templars and Corypheus by destroying these red lyrium veins and Fade rifts. It will be easier to help these people and to continue to help them once they are destroyed."
Deflated, Alistair rubbed his left shoulder, an injury a few days ago from the behemoth. "I..yes, I understand. I just wish there was something I could be doing. Sitting here, waiting, it can drive a man crazy."
The commander chuckled. "I know. Like you, I am a man of action," he disclosed. "Knowing Ash is nearby, going through Maker knows what, drives me to near madness. The only thing that keeps me rooted here is knowing that she'd rather me be here assisting the people of Sahrina."
Alistair's mouth twitched upward, his eyes moving upward in thought. "I see."
"The Inquisitor said she would be back this afternoon to plan strategy. We will know soon enough what our course of action is," Cullen assured, patting the man on the shoulder. He looked over his shoulder, spotting the noblemen in armor shifting back and forth next to his tent.
Excusing himself from the Warden, the former templar moved through the camp, extending his hand towards the noblemen. "You must be Edouard Desjardins. I'm Commander Cullen."
"Ah, Commander. It is a relief to finally see the Inquisition here. It has been...a trying few months," Edouard stated tentatively. "I believe the people are beginning to feel the dawn will come."
"I may be bold in my statement sir, but there is," Cullen remarked, moving his sight toward the Keep looming in the distance. "This nightmare will cease soon and the people will have peace again. You have my word."
Fort Drakon. She dreamt of it often of her imprisonment for two days and the battle with Urthemiel at the top of the impending tower. Her heels clicked on the blood-stained cobbled floor hallways, her calloused hands brushing against the crumbling walls. The torches glowed an unearthly green, but it didn't bother her as much as the elegant blue gown that clung to her. Why would she be wearing silks in the gruesome prison? Why would she even be here? Since the Blight, she refused to step into the tower, praying that one day it would crumble into oblivion.
Her first visit here she had been tortured, beaten because she was a traitor to Ferelden. The elf could still remember the soured smell of the soldier leaning over her, his smile sickening and frightening in her weakened state. She wasn't able to fight back when he grabbed her, dragging her into the darkened room. Her screams were muffled by the iron doors...No!
Ashiva stumbled, leaning against the walls heavily. They were cool to the touch, anchoring her to here and now. The elf didn't want to remember that. At the back of her mind, she swore she could hear laughter. She swallowed the bile that formed at the back of her throat, pushing herself up from her crumbled state on the floor. She needed to keep moving.
The elf's feet felt heavy, as if she were wearing iron boots. Gritting her teeth, she pushed forward, struggling to open the metal gate. She was startled to see the rows of iron bars, prisoners standing helplessly in each. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her shoulders back, lifting her head high before she took her time walking into the large dungeon.
In the first cell, she swore her heart was ready to bound out of her chest, stood a mage she never thought to see again. Jowan wore his blue apprentice robes, hands clenched tightly around the iron gates.
"Hello, Ashiva," he whispered. "I never thought I'd see you again, you of all people."
"Jowan," Ashiva said quietly, moving closer to the cage. "What are you doing?"
"You put me here," he mumbled, shifting away from the bars. "Have you come to finish me off?"
"I don't understand...I left you here in Fort Drakon," she asked, uncertain. "How is that possible? I-"
"You killed me," he finishes. "Welcome to the Hall of Regrets, Ash."
"We'll move at nightfall," the Inquisitor announced earlier, pointing at the map. "I scouted the area. Dorian, Iron Bull, Varric and I will invade from the back...our priority is defeating the Red Templar Lieutenants, Cullen I need you, Cole, Alistair and Blackwall to come behind us and help the survivors."
It was a sound plan. Alistair knew that as he walked behind the Commander. The sun had set hours ago, leaving them only with jars filled with a substance that glowed. "A chemical reaction, Alistair," Ashiva would have said with enthusiasm. She always was in love with alchemy. Maker, I hope she's here, he pleaded to himself.
He remembered when they found her in Fort Drakon. Bruises were around her legs and shoulders, thin cuts on her abdomen and arms, clothing discarded. They had tortured her and bled her. The smell in the tiny cell was overpowering of sickness and blood. It made him nauseous. She had only been there for a day and a half and she was nearly dead in his arms. He didn't want to imagine the condition she could be in now, nearly a month in the hands of red templars. It made his vision red in fury. The warden clinged to his sword tighter, hoping to find an opportunity to swing it at the bastards that held his friend.
Cole moved past the group, blending into the night. The iron carts rested near the abandoned quarry, dead templars scattered around the area. The Inquisitor had been through here, leaving her form of justice in her path. The rogue kneeled near one of the wagons, the sound of metal the only sound that the spirit was messing with the locks. Alistair moved away from the carts, preparing for a fight with whoever was willing. To his disappointment, there was nothing but the sounds of wolves far from them.
He watched Cullen assist an older woman from the cart, asking if there were more prisoners. One of the men answered, a tall middle-aged man, shoulders slumped in exhaustion.
"Just up the hill, there's another area where miners were working near. There were two more up there," he answered gruffly.
"We should keep moving," Blackwall stated, shuffling on his feet. The bearded man seemed restless.
Cullen nodded, pointing. "You and the others should head north, you'll find our camp. You'll be safe there," he directed the prisoners. "We will look for the others."
"Maker bless you," one woman whispered as the small group moved north, away from the quarry. Alistair could hear Cole beside him murmur something about liking to help people.
They moved forward again, eyes searching the darkness around them. Alistair only hoped they would find her somewhere amongst these ruins.
She clenched chunks of her hair in her fists, teeth grinding. The pain consumed her, devouring her like a dragon swallowing their prey whole. Her head pounded. The slightest noise and light made her cringe. How much more could she take before she took the plunge into insanity?
She fiddled with her loose trousers, finding the dagger. She twirled it in her hands, admiring the jagged black blade. It glistened like obsidian, and was sharp to the touch. Ashiva had already nicked her index finger, testing the blade.
The elven women knew one way to get out of this nightmare. Before she would have thought it the coward's way out, but as she traveled the maze of halls, she was beginning to think it a mercy. Perhaps there was no way out but this choice?
She remembered sitting in the circle decades ago, reading at the tiny desk. She was appalled by the Rite of Tranquility. It was what made her help Jowan. She never wanted it for him. Through her travels through, her views were showing her that life was not black or white. Nor was the controversial topic of the Tranquil. The book was old, the tome moan as she turned through the pages. The elf remembered reading the passage about the mage in the fade dying, their persona changing. Their death in the fade made them tranquil.
Ashiva was powerless here, her magic and weapons taken from her. Her willpower was waning with every struggling breath she took in the distorted environment. She had continued to fight, pressing forward through the cells. Each became worse to bear, more regrets, more what ifs. Jowan. Solona. Anders. Her friends from the circle, their lives horrible twisted because of her. Conner, pleading for his life. Isolde screaming at her, demanding her death. So many choices she made and regretted later.
She should have stopped Jowan, she should had told Irving. She should had went to the tower first. She should had searched for Anders after the events at Vigil's Keep. She should had-
The elf sighed, her crumbled form defeated. In the back of her mind, she knew this was the plan of the demon. Weaken her, delay her as it slowly fed of her, learning who she was. Envy wanted to be her. At this point though, Ashiva didn't give a damn. She just wanted everything to stop, to rest.
Hadn't she done enough already? She destroyed the lives of so many for her decisions, the blood on her hands. She was drowning in it. Ashiva had tried to redeem herself, saving Redcliffe, Denerim, Amaranthine. But was it enough? She had often asked the same question, kneeled in the pews of the small chantry, staring at the desolate stone eyes of Andraste.
She had stumbled into the small shrine, finding peace in the stone statue wielding the blade. It was time to end this. If there was anyone that deserved Tranquility, it was her. She looked around her, the candles glowly lightly around her. Lifting the blade, she was in awe of the shimmering ebony.
"In death...sacrifice," she whispered, thrusting the blade into her chest. She inhaled harshly, closing her eyes. The pain was unbearable. It was everywhere, in her leg, chest, in her head. The elf whimpered in pain, crumbling into herself.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
The pain continued, confusion settling in her mind. Shouldn't she be feeling the warm liquid around her? Shouldn't she not feel anything? Opening her eyes, she analyzed her wound. Nothing. Looking across the wooden floors, she saw the dagger out of her reach, glittering in the dim lighting. No evidence of blood rested on the blade.
"Why do you linger here, friend? This is not your place."
Ashiva gasped, clinging to her side. She looked around the small room, trying to find the owner of the voice. No one. The candles seem to glow brighter, whiter compared to the normal reddish-greenish light she had become accustomed to in the Fade. "Who is here?"
The sound of heavy armor made her tense. She reached for the dagger still out of reach with no luck. The elf saw the gauntlet first, reaching out to her. Her eyes traveled the arm, reaching the armored helm of the white being. She recognized the armor, though she had not seen it for nearly a decade. The rumors of his existence had troubled her, but she left it there, not seeking the spirit she had once befriended. Her eyes widened in disbelief, deja vu overwhelming her. "Justice? I thought you were dead?"
"Warden-Commander, I have watched for too long. The time to act has come," the spirit answered.
Ashiva took the hand, lifting herself from the ground. She gawked at Justice, her confusion settling further down into her stomach. "Is this yet another lie? Something Envy is creating to make me stumble?"
"I am no illusion, I am Justice," it simply stated. "Warden-Commander, you must continue to move. You must remain vigilant."
She scoffed. "Are you really going to tell me that? For Maker's sake what have I been doing this whole time? I have remained vigilant as I plunged the blade into Urthemiel. I remained vigilant when we killed the Architect and the Mother. I remained vigilant protecting a city that didn't want me as Vigil was destroyed. My friends died, people that believed in me died, because of my vigilance."
She fought the tears. "I remained vigilant as Kirkwall crumbled into ashes by one of my wardens, by YOU!"
"The world you live in...it was nothing like I thought it would be. It was full of beauty...and so many mortals worth saving. I tried...but failed," he explains. "I heard you call out. I would not leave you, my friend, my Warden-Commander."
The spirit saluted, his fist pounded his chest. Ashiva. "I watched as they dragged you into this place. The templars lost their honor, lost their purpose, yet they were impressed. They conquered the infamous Hero of Ferelden. They cheered their victory, boasted their triumph, but none like the one that put you here."
"I don't know how long I have been here, neither how I called out to you, but I was brought here by Envy. It wants to be me," Ashiva whispered, careful with her message. If this was demon, she didn't want to give it more knowledge.
"Warden-Commander, you have no weapon, no armor," the spirit added. "We must search for these things, then defeat this demon.'
She grinned, brushing the hair out of her face. "Now that, I can agree with."
He felt the magic before he felt the heat of the fire. Cullen stumbled back, the templar he had bashed with his shield in a blaze. He looked behind him, glaring at the Tevinter mage, turning back to finish the scorched man. Perhaps it was better than the embarrassment of dropping his sword in the middle of a battle because it became ablazed in a magical blue flame.
Lady Trevelyan stepped beside him, surveying the area. "Well done, Commander. It seems you had this under control."
"Just because I command you army, Inquisitor doesn't mean I cannot wield a blade. Someone has to teach the farmers to fight with a blade," counter Cullen with a smirk. "We have searched the quarry. This is the last of the hostages."
She looked relieved, rubbing her sword arm. "Wonderful. The families in Sahrnia will be most pleased," she whispered, handing him the missive. "Unfortunately, I came across this in my findings. It seems our dear Mistress Poulin may have told us a little white lie."
Cullen scanned the paper, holding the paper to the glowing glass bottle. He frowned with what little he could read. "So she was allowing this."
"Apparently so. Have one of your men round her up and take her to Skyhold. We will hold her responsible for this," the Inquisitor ordered. "Has there been anything on-"
"Not at the moment. I planned to ask some of the survivors. Perhaps they might know something," he answered, hiding his disappointment. He had hoped he would had found her here in the ruins, unharmed and pissed he hadn't come sooner.
Evelyn looked at him, sadness creeping into her gaze. "It's not over yet, Cullen. Have faith."
Cullen saluted, before stepping away from the woman. He moved forward, seeing Alistair, Blackwall and Cole speaking to the hostages. It was a smaller group, a mixture of elderly and young boys, probably orphans Mistress Poulin had promised to protect. Anger formed in his gut, fist clenched. He hoped justice would reign down on the woman for taking advantage of the fearful villagers.
He caught one of the men by the arm. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask...was there a warden mage with you before?"
"Warden? There was no warden," the man answer, spitting at the ground. "No damn warden with us."
Alistair stepped up. "Cullen, she probably didn't want to be recognized. She wouldn't have worn the Warden armor," he advised, softly. "Even if she had worn it, they probably would had stripped it from her, leaving her with no defenses."
Cullen nodded. "Fine. How about an elven woman. Golden eyes and hair as black as night. It would glow silver in the moonlight. Pale skin."
The man sneered, face contorting in anger. "A knife-ear? You're searching for a damn knife-ear?"
He bite his lip, fighting his temptation to hit the man over the head. The prejudice was something he never understood growing up in the circle. Sure there were humans and elves, but they were all treated the same. Ashiva was one of the cleverest mages he had ever met. If only the man knew his prejudice was over the Grey Warden who defeated the Fifth Blight. At the corner of his eye, he noticed Alistair shift, his hand twitching near his sword. Cullen wasn't the only one agitated by the man's slander.
"Yes...she's-"
"Yes, the knife-ear is part of an investigation the Inquisitor is looking into," Alistair interrupted, glowering at the man. "Anything can help us find her."
The man shook his head. "Talk to the boy here. He mentioned something about an elf."
The boy was young, fifteen at most. His face was dirty with soot, cleaning his nails with the tiny dagger. "Aye, there was an elf. Woman, with black hair. I didn't see her eyes. She was unconscious when they drove through the streets."
"Who drove through the streets," Cullen questioned.
"Red Templars. They've been here for three months," the boy replied. "She came in after a big storm. They stopped in Sahrnia, stole some of our food. They force the healer to straighten the elf's leg. It was broken bad. The screams were something from my nightmares. They stayed for two days before they left for Suledin Keep, taking her with them."
Suledin Keep. Cullen swore under his breath. They wouldn't force a mage to eat lyrium. Raw lyrium could kill a mage. The men and women they saved tonight were only for experiments, forcing the hostages to eat the red rocks. To go so much out of the way to move her from the Western Approach to here, they wanted her alive for something. But what?
He thanked the boy, stepping away from the crowd and pulling out the phylactery. Cullen knew she had to be close. The glass container glowed and vibrated wildly. Pointing it in the direction of the ancient elven keep, he felt the pulse speed up more, pointing in that direction. She was there. She was in Suledin Keep, alive.
She returned from the Warden Prison a week after they had made camp. Although he had disagreed with her decision he had remained with Thrash and Keran, waiting for her to return. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the loose strands of hair blowing in the arid wind. She had darker spots on her armor, blood splatters. He prayed that it was not her own blood. She stood away from the fire, her body facing the shadow of the tower.
He hated this. Since her return, the distance between them had grown, as if the past two weeks traveling together had meant nothing. Whatever had happened in the prison had unnerved her. He knew she wouldn't tell him the secrets of the order she belonged with, but he only hoped that she would rely on him. She didn't have to do this alone.
Cullen frowned. He had denied it for years, these affections he had towards the elf. It was forbidden in the circle. He had watched her from a distance, her hands twisting in the blue apprentice robes. He knew she feared the water, avoiding the swimming lessons that had happened when she was a child. She hummed softly as she spun intricate designs in the air, the fade opening. As she read from the ancient tomes, she absently tapped the desk with her index finger. His infatuation with her, although never acted upon was known throughout the halls. He heard the whispers from the other mages.
Then she was in Kirkwall, a Grey Warden. Although not being a mage from the circle anymore, he knew the relationship was inappropriate. If anyone was to find out, it could mean trouble for him or for her, but he couldn't leave her. He wanted to know her. The letters were a comfort, something he read to himself before he slept. She mentioned her wardens, Alistair, Oghren, Velanna, Sigrun and Nathaniel. She spoke of Amaranthine and the celebrations she partook in. She wrote of her nightmares, people's screams, dark smoke and a black dragon flying around her. Cullen was honored that she trusted him with this knowledge, but he wanted more.
"Do you plan to stand here, or actually speak to her?"
Cullen groaned, turning to acknowledge the red-headed templar. "Ser Thrask, you needed something?"
"I've watch you two dance around each other for weeks," Thrask started, moving his head towards Ashiva. He chuckled. "Young love, I envy you Cullen."
"This...this isn't what you think it is," Cullen excused rapidly, tongue twisting in his mouth. "I admire her...her strength. She saved Ferelden, my home. My family….sister and brothers are alive because of her."
Thrask shook his head, disapprovingly. "It's more than that. I've been in your shoes before. I know what it is."
"She's a mage...it would be inappropriate," the templar stuttered, feeling the battle was being lost. Love. It was a word he refused to use. Love was for other people. Not for him. Never for him.
"That's the thing about love and the heart," Thrask chuckles, lowering himself to the ground, inviting Cullen to join him. Cullen obliged. "The heart wants what it wants. There is no reasoning to it. It doesn't matter not to the heart if they are poor or rich, elf or human or even if they are a mage or a templar. It loves whom it wants to love."
Cullen sat there, thinking carefully over the words. He looked at the older man, eyes distant staring at the flame at the heart of the camp. This conversation wasn't something he was prepared for. Had Thrask been in love before? With a mage? "Were you...have you…"
"Lara wasn't a mage, but a merchant girl. Hair like gold and eyes bluer than the sky," he answered. "The summer before I was sent off to be a templar, our love flourished. That summer was special. I think of it on my worst days and it makes things better in a way."
Thrask smiled, turning his blue eyes on him. "Go over there and talk to her. I don't plan to report you to Meredith. Even if something was said, there is nothing they can do. That warden is not part of the circle or in the service to the chantry any longer."
Cullen didn't know how long he sat there, watching Ashiva before he stood, grabbing the blanket from his tent. His steps were heavy, weighted by the excessive armor. The chill crept through the armor but he pressed forward, draping the wool blanket on her shoulders. She gasped, startled when she turned to him.
"Cullen?"
"You looked cold out here by yourself and thought you might like a blanket...maybe some company."
The smile was small but beautiful on her delicate features. Her amber eyes glowed in the night, similar to the cats that lurked the shadows in Lowtown. She brushed the black strands of hair away from her pale skin, her face downcast. "I...I'd like that," she murmured, clinging to the blanket now around her shoulders.
They stood next to one another, looking out in the distance, the full moon the only source of light. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply the mountain air. "Being in that prison, I didn't know if I would have a chance to breath in fresh air again, to see the stars again….to see," she paused, opening her eyes to look at the templar. "To see you again."
"I...I didn't like you leaving to go in there alone," he stuttered. "The magic...it's so dense here. I can't imagine what it was like there."
He could taste the magic in the air, his lungs suffocating. His skin itched all week as he practice with his blade, meditated, and prayed. Ashiva nodded. "Yes, and the taint was everywhere as well. The darkspawn swarmed the entire place. The Fade was weak...Jerry, Sharon and I had to weave the fade back together in many areas. It was brutal work, but we didn't find what caused the disturbance. It...troubles me. It should have been there."
"We saw a group traveling to the prison. Did you encounter them?"
"Orlesian Wardens," she replied, disdain in her voice. "They decided they would handle the problem. Those Orlesians insisted that they were in charge and that my place was not anywhere near that prison. I finished my investigation and left with a knot in my stomach, but I wasn't going to cause a civil war with the Orlesian pigs."
Cullen chuckled. "I'm just glad you came back, safe."
Ashiva grabbed his hand, lacing his fingers in hers. "As am I," the elf whispered. Her forehead crinkled in confusion, the right side of her lip twitching into a half grin. "I have a confession, Cullen."
"So you are going to finally admit it was you that froze Knight-Commander Gregoir's smalls and placed them in the Commons," challenged Cullen, his smile giving away his mischief."
"No, that was Solona. I'll never forget the look on his face.," she laughed lightly, eyes brightening in memory. she cleared her throat though her smile remained on her pink lips. "I've thought a lot about you Cullen, more than a mage should about a templar."
"You...you care about me," he mumbles, knowing the more he speaks the more he sounds like a buffoon. This was ridiculous. The were standing next to one another, hands clasped together, her soft confession of affections towards him and all he can think to say is "you care for me?" He wanted to kick himself. Cullen looked up at the sky, praying that there would be words for him to read up there. Nothing. He sighed, shoulders slouched.
"Yeah," she said, strained. The laugh sounds low, twisting her other hand in her hair. "Yeah, I care about you...more than I should...more than is wise." Ashiva looked lost, shaking her head.
"What's wrong?"
"What's wrong, he says," she repeated, tormented. "You're a templar and I'm a mage! Our lives...it wouldn't work. We would never work and it makes me angry...sad...frustrated."
She lets his hand go, pulling her arms around herself. He misses the warmth of her touch. "I know we were trying to move on from Kinloch, but I can't stop thinking about it. I remember what Uldred did to you...the desire demon...your anger. You say you never thought me like them, but I can't help but think. Do you trust mages? Do you trust me?"
He grabbed her by the shoulders, lifting her face upwards to look at him. The sadness on her face, stirred his heart in ways he didn't know could happen. "Ash, we talked about this already. You were never one of them. You're not Uldred, nor the blood mages that took over the circle. You're you, the Hero of Ferelden, my friend and my savior," he answered, lowering his voice. He didn't want their conversation to be overheard. "I trust you implicitly."
"Then what of your feelings," the mage whispered.
The templar inhaled, clinging to her shoulders tighter. What were his feelings? He had thought this through, made a plan. He always had a plan. "I think about you often...and what I might say in this sort of situation." Cullen stepped away, fighting to clear his head. What had he planned to say before he began to stumble over his words? He couldn't remember anymore.
Her small hand grabbed his gauntlet, drawing him back to her. He did expect to feel her lips pressed against his, her other hand coming up to brush against his face. There is no need for words now, his arms wrapping around her lithe form, pulling her closer to him. It seems like an eternity and too soon when they part, her eyes fluttering open. He noticed for the first time how cold her expression had been throughout the trip, her face softer. Cullen brushed his gauntlet across her lips softly, wishing he had thought to take the armor off before visiting her.
"That was...really nice," mumbled the Knight-Captain, wishing to curl up in a corner. Words were not his ally.
She grinned, pulling him down to her level, wrapping the blanket around both of them. "Stay with me, here tonight."
Cullen smiled, wrapping his arm tighter around her waist. "Always."