freedom_is_grey | Don't call my name out loud

The Caribbean inlet is warmer... but not by much. Cullen's there anyway, alone, watching the water from his perch on a rock.

Something white -- perhaps long unbound hair streaming behind a slim quick-moving figure, lit by moonlight -- flashes in one corner of his vision, gets blocked by a stone, and then keeps moving on by in clear sight.

Ysa is still at the rapid pacing stage, pushing herself until the muscles in her legs start aching.

It's a beginning.

Edited 2016-10-18 00:24 (UTC)

It draws his attention --

There's Ysalwen. There's Ysalwen moving fast.

Alone.

Cullen's on his feet without thinking about it. "Ysa? Is everything -- ?"

She whirls at the sound of his voice, scraping her hair out of her eyes with desperate hands.

Her cheeks are wet.

"No!."

This isn't Kirkwall anymore, Anders isn't -- This Cullen is --

"No, I'm not -- it happened, Cullen. It happened and I tried and -- "

Cullen rarely comes to Milliways armed (save for a belt knife, but that hardly counts). And this doesn't seem like something that requires a sword, but --

"What? What happened?"

"Kirkwall."

She scrubs the back of her hand across her eyes, hiding her face for a second.

"Anders. I -- I tried. He and Justice -- I killed them, and I tried, and the Chantry didn't explode, but the -- the city is still burning and it all happened anyway and I don't -- "

Kirkwall.

I killed them.

In a way that's all she needed to say.

Without thinking about it too hard -- if he does then he'll do something he'll regret later, act like who he used to be instead of who he is -- he sets a hand firm on her shoulder, and squeezes. "Ysa. Breathe. Start there."

"I can't, I can't, I don't want to -- "

But isn't everything about this life at least a little of what she doesn't want?

It's true, and Cullen is here, and it's --

She inhales, long and ragged, holding it for a three count, then exhales.

If she hiccups on the exhale, these things happen.

"I -- "

Another, longer inhale, just about as ragged.

Well.

Cullen's been there. With the not wanting to.

"Good." Low. "Well done. Just like that."

"He trusted me. They -- "

This next inhale is just slightly less shaky.

"He wanted me to -- And I couldn't -- I wouldn't -- "

She stops talking then, just breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

But she doesn't stop thinking, and that's the real trouble.

That's the first step done. Second --

He needs to know. It was different, of course -- if there were Wardens there when he lived through the mage uprising in Kirkwall, he doesn't remember -- but if she's this upset, those differences are important. Even if the end result is the same.

But asking --

I killed them.

(Cullen remembers watching her at Kinloch, watching how alone she became once it was clear that her magical skills were oriented toward destruction and death. Remembers how quiet she was.)

-- isn't going to get those answers. Not now. Not like this.

Slow and careful, attuned and ready to back off at any sign of resistance, Cullen folds her in a solid embrace.

Ysa crumples, burying her face against Cullen's chest and holding on so tightly her knuckles go white.

She doesn't sob, just focuses on breathing, and holding on, and breathing.

And breathing.

He rests a palm on the back of her head, looking out at the water.

Softly:

"That city is rotten, through and through. It's cold comfort. But no blame lies with you, Ysa. No matter what."

Ysalwen squeezes her arms more tightly around him, like someone trying to offer comfort of her own.

For what it's worth.

Then she sniffs, very quietly.

"I thought he was still Anders. I thought I could -- but he wasn't. He hadn't been for years. But even without him -- them -- "

Cullen lets out a quiet sigh.

"Can you -- I don't want to assume it's the same. What happened. It isn't -- as far as I know, the Wardens didn't try to intervene with Anders. So if you can..."

"I can."

She disengages at that, taking a step back and looking up at Cullen.

One fortifying breath, and then --

"We found a spirit in the Blackmarsh. He had been forced into the body of a dead Warden -- I say he because Kristoff -- the Warden -- was a man. The spirit was Justice, and he helped us until we could get him back to Kristoff's wife -- after everything -- where he left the body for the funeral and went back to the Fade. Then Weisshaupt called me away, sending templars to oversee Amaranthine in my place. Anders fled -- I don't know if he called Justice back before or after that, but -- they were together. In Kirkwall."

She'll move back again, if Cullen wants her to. Because -- demons.

"They -- Anders was so angry and afraid -- he and Justice corrupted each other and became something like Vengeance. And that's what decided to blow up the Chantry. That's why nothing made any sense in that. It was -- he was -- an abomination. There at the end. I don't know when it really started. But -- "

But Cullen is the color of old oatmeal, and for one sudden, horrible moment he thinks he's going to be sick.

He folds his arms tight across his middle, as though she stabbed him.

Does Cassandra know? She must -- she's been getting the whole story. Anders was getting into and out of the Gallows for months. Is that why Orsino turned to blood magic? Surely not -- it's the city, the whole city, and the red lyrium. Can it be possible for all of this to be laid at the feet of one apostate?

"No," Cullen breathes, and rakes his hands through his hair. No. It was the -- it was everything. It was the last thousand years of misery that explains and defines the city's existence. It was the hard turn against magic that occurred at Andraste's defeat of the Tevinter Imperium and again at the time of the first Inquisition. It was a million cruelties, piled one on top of another. It was what happened to Meredith Stannard's sister that turned the former knight-commander against magic. It was every Maker-damned one of them who forgot that justice must be tempered by mercy. That their chief task is to protect each other, to preserve order, to live up to the higher ideals that drove Andraste (or elven gods, or the Qun, or whoever it is the dwarves believe in).

"I -- need a minute." He rubs his forehead. "I didn't know. About that. We're all right, I just -- I need a minute."

Ysalwen folds her arms around herself, skin goose-pimpling in the chill.

(Surely it's only the chill air.)

"I know," she says, throat gone tight.

"I know."

And then she's silent. Breathing.

Breathing.

It doesn't matter.

-- that's not true; it does matter, but one has to prioritize. Everything is a different set of problems, some more pressing than others, and you can't aim at the bigger picture when there's something more important --

Cullen follows his own advice: a breath, in and out, slow.

He's killed abominations. He's killed former friends and colleagues. He's been present for failed Harrowings. He's been betrayed by the superior in charge of his physical, spiritual, and moral well-being.

Ysa's killed an archdemon, and untold numbers of darkspawn, but Cullen's willing to bet -- never anything quite like this.

And just like that: Cullen puts aside the revelation, and puts what's important first.

"All right." Soft; steady calm washes over him like a wave. "Anders was an abomination. Leaving -- all, all implications aside... no blame lies with you."

Because it was a choice, for Anders. There's always a choice, somewhere along the line. There's always a chance to do the better thing, or the right thing.

"Tell me you know that. Please."

"In my head I know."

She'd been looking away from him, to give him privacy -- to give herself the illusion of it -- both?

Ysalwen looks back at him now, wiping impatiently at the last residual dampness on her cheeks.

Breathing.

Breathing.

"My heart -- I still know. I think. Justice -- he wouldn't have wanted that. What they made of each other. Anders -- "

She shakes her head, rubbing at her eyes with her hands for a second, scrubbing away -- something.

"If he'd asked me I would have told him. It wasn't like with -- the other time I saw it. They weren't -- they couldn't be united in purpose, not ever. It was always going to come to this. I just -- they were my friends. And it didn't change anything."

Ysalwen sniffs, eyes closing as she takes another breath.

"Well, it did. The Chantry didn't explode. Those people may not have died in the chaos, I can't be sure. But -- "

Protecting people from abuses of magic is why the Templar Order exists. It's beyond not the time to bring it up, but -- Ysa's had a look at the other side. What it's like.

His hand's on her shoulder again. "Can you tell me what did happen? From the beginning? Why you were in Kirkwall this time?"

None of this has shifted her opinion on training mages and templars together, in encouraging them to be friends.

It mattered that she cared about Anders specifically. Even if it hurts a fuck of a lot.

"There was an abandoned thaig nearby, and after conferring with Orzammar we sent out a party to investigate, make sure nothing horrible was lurking there. They went missing, but sent word that things were -- odd, to put it one way -- before they did."

She huffs out what might almost be a laugh.

"You'll love this. Nathaniel was leading the party that vanished."

Edited 2016-10-19 01:24 (UTC)

(That's the point: it hurts. And it has to be done, for the sake of everyone else, and there are the vows that make you swear to remember, always, that it's a thankless job.

But mages and templars can be friends.)

It's a bad situation when Cullen resorts to humor. Or a sorry attempt at it. "Give me some credit," he says lightly. "I wouldn't wish that on his facial hair. Or his person. -- he's well?"

It's the part where they've turned into jailers over the Ages that makes all the rest more difficult. And awful.

"A little banged up still, but -- "

Her expression falls for a moment, but she pulls it back up with some effort.

"Anders' clinic in Darktown is what saved him -- I'm glad we made it before he passed out. The others were less badly hurt. And after I shipped them off to the Hanged Man for beds for the night -- well. Anders said he needed to talk to me. And then -- "

Edited 2016-10-19 01:31 (UTC)

Cullen squeezes her shoulder. Waits. Listens.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject