Chapter 23: Hell Hath No Fury
By the time Errol reached the prison, she was in a full rage.
She had spent the journey to Val Royeaux wracking her brains, trying to come up with some reason why Blackwall would have left them, especially after her embarrassing display the night before he vanished. She had poured her heart out to the Grey Warden, one of the few people she trusted not to joke about it or use it as an excuse to hit on her, and he turned and walked out without a word, leaving her to wake up hungover in the hay to the face of one of Leliana's worried scouts.
But this… this was worse than she could have ever dreamed. He wasn't Blackwall— he wasn't even a Grey Warden. No wonder the false calling hadn't affected him. He had lied to her, just another liar like she was, another killer. He had killed a family. He sickened her. Yet they needed him. From a tactical standpoint, he was one of the best.
Errol pressed her fingertips to the hollows of her eyes. She wanted to be sick.
Cullen rubbed the back of her neck soothingly. "Are you sure you want to go in alone?"
"Yes," she said shortly. "Have everyone stay out here, please. There will be a lot of yelling."
"As you wish." She could tell by the twitch of his hand before it fell that he wanted to pull her close but couldn't with others around, so he just stepped back and let the guard open the door that led to the long line of mostly-empty cells.
Rainier was at the end of them, slumped and broken. He didn't lift his head as Errol's footsteps came closer and finally stopped just outside of his cell. "So now you know."
She took a deep breath in through her nose, then out through her mouth, trying to stay zen. "You…. sonofabitch," she said softly. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Haltingly, he started to speak. "I didn't take Blackwall's life. I traded his death. He wanted me for the Wardens, but there was an ambush. Darkspawn. He was killed. I took his name to stop the world from losing a good man. But a good man, the man he was, wouldn't have let another die in his place."
"Yeah, okay Jean Valjean, but don't you think that was something you could have told me AT SKYHOLD, AT ANY POINT OVER THE LAST TWO YEARS!" She surprised him when she screamed, grabbing the bars and shaking them. He looked up in shock.
"I… this is something I had to do. Didn't you hear? I'm responsible for the death of a family, of children. How could I have told you that?"
"You literally just did!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the walls. "You should have sat me down and said, 'Hey, Errol, I have something to tell you and you won't like it, but hear me out,' and I would have, and maybe I would have hated you but I wouldn't be here talking to one of my best fighters through iron bars in fucking Val Royeaux because he couldn't talk to me himself!"
"You would have heard me out? I could have talked you?" He stood and faced her, grabbing her hands where they curled around the bars. "Don't you understand? I gave the order to kill Lord Callier, his entourage, and I lied to my men about what they were doing! When it came to light, I ran! Those men, my men, paid for my treason while I was pretending to be a better man. This is what I am. A murderer, a traitor, a monster." He released her and sank to his knees, but Errol grabbed him by his hair and forced him to look up at her.
"No. Shit," she hissed. "What you did was horrific. I'm appalled. I'll never look at you the same way again. Is that what you want me to say? It's true. But don't you think if anyone could have understood you it would have been me? How many people have I killed? Even in war it's still murder. What about the Dreadnought? What about Hawke?" She shook him by the hair and saw him wince. "How many times have you saved my life on the field? How many times have you taken a blow meant for me, or for Sera, or for Cole? How many times have you almost died? And you'd give up now, now when Corypheus is gathering the last of his forces, now when we need you the most? This isn't about you saving anyone. This is about you being weak." She let go of his hair and he fell back.
He immediately stood and called after her retreating figure. "I had to do this. I couldn't let him die for me."
She spun around and got in his face, gripping the front of his coat through the bars. He let her manhandle him, his eyes wide as she spat out her words in a torrent. "No, if you wanted him saved you should have come to me, you shit! We're fighting a war and you're one of our best and you throw that away because of your feelings? We could have freed your friend and spared your life and you could have killed yourself after the battle. You'd rot while Corypheus took over the world? Coward." She looked at him with a mixture of heartbreak and contempt. "You were the first one who told me sometimes we need to do what needs to be done, and if that means doing the hard thing, which in this case would be sacrificing your fucking pride and pity party and coming to me, then you should have done that."
She dropped his coat and backed away, shaking her head like she couldn't stand the sight of him. "Now I have to save your sorry ass because we need every fighter we can get and you're a damn good fighter. You can die on the field for all I care but you won't die here."
With that Errol turned on her heel and marched away, her hands trembling. When she emerged back into the main room she looked at Cullen and simply said: "Get him back to Skyhold however you have to. We're leaving. Now." He nodded and went to speak with a few of his men while Errol walked outside. It was a struggle not to run; the walls felt like they were closing in on her. The rain had stopped, the sun gentle and warm, and only when the breeze blew chill on her face did she feel like she could breathe again.
Cullen's light touch on her arm made her jump. "It will be done," he said in a soft voice, as if trying not to spook her. "And there are ample accommodations in Val Royeaux if you would like to rest before beginning the journey back to Skyhold."
"No," Errol said. "Tell the men to purchase supplies if we need them. There's enough daylight to get well outside the city before dark. We'll camp tonight."
Cullen looked at her, worry creasing his brow. He reached over and cradled her head in one gloved hand, his thumb resting just at her temple. "This has clearly taken a toll on you," he said gently. "Surely some rest..."
She touched his cheek and let him feel, for one brief moment, the tremor that shook her hands. "If I spend one more minute in this blighted city I'll go mad," she said, surprised at how easily the once-foreign curse spilled from her lips. Her head was filled with the sound of her own heartbeat, like a rushing river of blood. He nodded in pained understanding and stepped away.
"We'll leave immediately."
Errol felt the knot between her should blades loosen with each step she took toward the stables. The anger still lingered, though, as did the sadness. There were still wrongs to be righted. She was tired of feeling like cracked armor, like the right blade could slip past her defenses and shatter her at any moment. It was time to stop being weak.
Errol swung her leg up on her horse and aimed him toward Skyhold. She knew just where to start.
Solas was pacing and paging contemplatively through a book when she appeared in his doorway. He felt her long before that, due to the buzz of her unique spirit magic and his marks, both of them, the inadvertent one and the purposeful one. She was easy to locate; he felt her ride through the gates of Skyhold and go to the stables, then move with quick, hurried steps straight to him, her riding gear still on.
He didn't expect the mood she'd be in.
"You!" she said in a voice loud enough it disturbed the ravens far above, theirs rustlings and caws echoing through the chamber. Solas turned, the book in his hands, a mild expression on his face, to see Errol pointing at him, legs spread like she was about to attack.
"Inquisitor? Is something the matter?"
She marched to him, her finger still up. "I just got back from having to free Blackwall for being a colossal dumbass, and I had a lot of time to think on the way back. I am tired of being jerked around. So I'm only going to say this once. Stop. It."
He put the book down and gently pushed her finger aside. He figured in her current mood that she wouldn't appreciate it if he did what he really wanted to do, which was take that irritating, tempting digit and slide it into his mouth before moving on to her damnably full bottom lip. "Stop what, exactly?"
She didn't lower her voice. "Stop what you've been doing. Oh, I'll shout it for the whole tower to hear. I'm done, do you hear me? I won't be pushed around, intimidated, or swayed by magic. You either sit me down and tell me the whole truth and nothing but the truth, or you leave me the fuck alone. I am tired of games and I am tired of half-truths and this twisted whatever you think is happening between us."
Solas considered her carefully, his hands behind his back. "Or?"
She leaned forward and lowered her voice, her eyes narrowed. "Or I'll make sure you have some very embarrassing moments in front of everyone at Skyhold right when you least expect it."
He flushed, his eyes unconsciously flickering to the concealed mark on her neck. "That's— you wouldn't."
"Oh, I would. So either learn to communicate like a grown up or Back. Off. I won't say it again." She spun around and marched out.
Solas sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to ignore Dorian's mocking applause echoing from the next level. She was right; he had come on too strong in his efforts to draw her away from Cullen. It was a pity her anger aroused the Wolf in him. It rumbled in the back of his head, urging him to follow her and take what was his. He felt her move with purpose through the main hall, but instead of turning left to her chambers, where it would be so easy to follow, she turned right and vanished into the Undercroft, where he could no longer sense her, her magic muddled by all of the enchantments Dagna had strewn about the place.
He shook the thought away. He knew what had to happen. It would all play out to his advantage no matter what. He would just have to be patient. He would leave her be, for now.
When Errol was done being fitted by Dagna she replaced her top, new heat sinking into her bones, the padded cords around her neck and arm chafing no matter how much the dwarf promised she'd get used to it. Errol thanked her and tried to appear calm but she was shaking. Too much, too much stress, too much exhaustion, too much everything. She emerged from the Undercroft and stopped by her room only long enough to drop off her riding gear, then went straight to Cullen's office. He was still in his armor, dirt spattered across his legs from the ride, debriefing a group of scouts. Everyone looked up when she entered.
"Out," she said, pointing to the open door. The scouts hesitated, flickering their gazes between her and the Commander. Her voice hardened and against her will the green of her palm flared, reacting to her emotional state. "Do I have to say it again?"
"No, Inquisitor," the scouts mumbled, hands over their hearts, and they rushed out. Errol closed the door behind her.
"Maker's breath, Errol, what was that about?" Cullen asked, sounding torn between annoyed and worried. He approached her and noticed her shoulders trembling. "Are you— are you all right?"
She turned into him and he wrapped his arms around her. She didn't cry, just laid her head on his breastplate, wishing she could hear his heart beating.
He rested his cheek on top of her head. "Whatever it is, you know you can talk to me about it." He hesitated. "Is this about Black— Rainier?"
She shook her head and burrowed deeper into him, breathing in his familiar scent. "Later," she said. "Later. I just…" Her throat closed up. "I've been so angry, for so long, I feel like everyone is lying to me, I had to just… have something solid." She clutched at his fur mantle. "Please, if you have any secrets, tell me now."
He tightened his arms around her. "No secrets," he said throatily. "I've told you all of my sins."
Errol felt herself shaking again, her legs weak, all of the pain and rage that had sustained her leaking out of her body. She tipped her head up and kissed him, fiercely, one hand in his hair, dragging him down to her. "Don't you run off on me," she breathed between kisses. "Don't you lie to me, don't you die on me."
"I will not," he promised, pressing his forehead to hers. "I will never leave you."
"You know what I am. I can't… I can't give you everything. If we can't… fix me, I might not be able to give you a normal life."
Cullen took her chin in his hand and lifted it so that she was looking directly in his eyes. "The Void take a normal life," he growled. "I have never had one. Whether you become fully human or not, you are perfect. You do not need to be fixed. Whatever comes, we face it together."
Errol nodded, but the pressure wouldn't release from her chest. "I feel like I'm drowning," she confessed. "It's hard to breathe." She wasn't lying; it was like a great hand was on her ribs, forcing the air from her lungs.
Cullen kissed her forehead. "You're having a panic attack."
She tried to laugh weakly. "Usually I just throw up."
"That's shock. This is the buildup of months of pressure." He turned her and guided her to the ladder. "Go upstairs and take off your clothes and sit on the bed. Concentrate on your breathing. I'll be up in a moment." His voice was calm but authoritative. At her look he gave her a gentle half smile. "This is nothing untoward, I promise you, but you need to relax before you're overwhelmed. Please, Errol."
She nodded and wearily moved to the ladder, wishing more than anything that it was just a staircase like a normal person would have. Once upstairs, she stripped and sat cross-legged on the middle of the bed, the warm daylight filtering in through the hole in the roof. Below, she heard Cullen lock the doors and shift a few items around before following.
A moment later he was beside her again, pressing a cool glass of water into her hand. "Drink slowly," he instructed. "And remember what I said about your breathing. Count your breaths. Don't let them be too shallow or too deep, or you'll hyperventilate."
Errol closed her eyes and followed his instructions, sipping the water as she did so. It felt wonderful against her parched throat, and she realized belatedly that both of them were still dirty from their travels. She heard the familiar clunks as Cullen removed his armor and boots and placed them on the floor. After a few minutes, he gently plucked the cup from her grasp and placed it on the nightstand.
The bed shifted under his weight. Errol felt him settle in behind her, still in his trousers and light shirt, his legs around hers. His left hand lightly brushed the crux of her neck and shoulder.
"What's this?"
"Oh, it's…" Errol paused, touching the supple scales that were held in place via cords looped around her neck and under her arm. Now that it was on, she hadn't wanted take it off. "It's dragonling scales, chock full of enchantments. Dagna made it for me. I had to let her cut little pieces of me off first for research but that was only kinda creepy. Cole's watching her, I'm safe. I think she'll be more excited than scared of anything else she finds."
He traced the crimson scales. "Are they always warm?"
"Yeah, kind of weird but nice. Very fire resistant so a little like armor."
"You never did explain what that mark is except that it's magic and it protects you. And that I shouldn't touch it. Or bite it. Even though it feels quite good for both of us when I do."
Errol shifted, uncomfortable. "Honestly? I don't know much more than that. It's dangerous and something I probably shouldn't have accepted but I did because it was a choice between this or the risk of being bound by blood magic. But now that I have it I figured the least I could do would be to get Dagna to... tamp down its magic a bit. I can't say more. And you have to be okay with that." He didn't say anything. "Are you okay with that?"
Cullen leaned down and kissed her other shoulder, the unmarked one. "How can I not be? You are doing everything in your power to keep yourself safe in your… unique situation. I cannot fault you for that." He rested his hands at the cords. "Do you mind if I remove it, for the moment?"
Errol hesitated, then lifted her left arm and allowed him to slide the loop over it, and tilted her head so he could remove the other cord. He put the tiny armor on the bed and then gently placed his hands around her waist and lifted her back so she was sitting in his lap.
"What are you—" Errol started, but trailed off as he swept her hair to the side and she felt his hands, slick with some kind of warm oil, begin to massage her neck, as always staying away from the bite mark, which seemed to almost pulse angrily now that the armor was removed.
"Just focus on your breathing," he said softly into her ear as he moved slowly down, his thumbs finding trigger points in her trapezius and working them over with steady pressure, the muscle slipping angrily underneath. "Relax. This might hurt a bit. If it's too much just let me know."
"Okay," Errol murmured, the ghost of a whisper. Cullen used one hand to press her shoulder down while his other hand massaged, her bones shifting and popping. She winced, trying to breathe steadily even as the heel of his hand dragged down the rock-hard muscle.
He worked deep into her tissue, moving back up her neck and over her shoulders, focusing on where her muscles slipped beneath the skin, digging and pushing until the slip broke and the muscles released. With each release Errol let out a stuttering breath, until she realized she was crying, tears dripping down her face. When he guided her to sprawl stomach down on the bed she let him, and he worked diligently on her back, using the weight of his body until her spine cracked, the painful release sending a rush of endorphins to her head. He moved down her arms to her hands, massaging each of the ligaments in her fingers, then down her legs to her feet, rotating her ankles and digging his thumbs into her sore arches until she gasped. It was beautifully asexual and without expectation. Errol felt boneless, weightless, and she couldn't stop crying, the weight lifting from her body as he tenderly cared for her.
Finally, she felt a blanket drape over her prone form and lips glide across her forehead. "Sleep," he said softly. "We'll leave tomorrow."
"Leave?" Errol murmured, half asleep already.
"Just for a day or two. Is that all right?"
"Wonderful. This place is a prison."
Cullen stroked her hair. "I'll arrange it now." He paused, his hand lingering on her cheek. "Errol, I—"
Errol thought he might have said something else, but the pull of sleep was too strong, and she was swept into the Fade, the tears on her face finally drying.