"What I'd love is a way out of the Fade," Lana cut back with as she made another mark.
"And you shall have it, of course, sweetheart. But in order to accomplish it, we need to work together. I need your help before I can, in turn, help you."
Its fingers of light inched towards her, already pawing through her guarded memories, but Lana snapped the gate closed. Even exhausted, irritated, and suffering from intestines exhausted of processing spider legs she knew how to hold back her mind. Alistair was terrible at leading, but he'd proved an agile teacher when it came to the tricks templars used against blood mages. She didn't have access to them all, but shoring up her mind from any spirit influence came almost like breathing now.
"Before you dive right back in for what you want," Lana said, "I have one more question for you."
The spirit didn't sneer, but its white hot light faded to a dusky orange. "What is it? Dearest," was then tacked on.
Yanking back her chair, Lana rose. Her legs trembled as if the muscles were terrified to exert any exercise, but she ignored it and began to pace back and forth from the half of a bed jammed inside a wall, to the bookshelf. Folding her arms up, Lana leaned against the shelf for support and asked, "Why are the other spirits scared of you?"
Its lights flared for a moment before sliding back into the super sweet voice, "They are afraid of what they do not understand."
Lana snorted at the paltry answer, little more than a dust mote on the wind. People said that when they didn't want to give an answer, didn't want to try and come to any compromise, didn't want to place any blame upon themselves. Plenty of people were afraid of mages because they didn't understand them, but just as many lived in fear of mages because they knew all too well what they were capable of. For every ten Fereldens who'd clap her on the back and thank her for rescuing them all from blight, there was one who eyed her up in terror. She couldn't shake those eyes glittering in the crowd, watching her hands for fear that they'd turn on them, or her wrists to make certain blood didn't pour free. They knew what she was, saw what she and others like her were capable of, and they feared her. It was a rare person to climb back from that instinctual terror and embrace the idea that mages were more than...
She pinched the bridge of her nose, swallowing back the face that rose in her brain. It wasn't the time to be thinking of him, to be wallowing in pity, self or otherwise. "Are you keeping the other spirits away? Wynne in particular?"
It floated close to her desk, but the orange burned away to reveal an almost crisp rose pink rising along its edges. Something changed, something Lana missed. "I have no part in their comings and goings anymore than you do, my dear. If you wish to partake of them again, you will have to find them yourself."
"I will," Lana said, watching the spirit closely. It didn't shift form, or lash out, but the pink rippled for a moment revealing a red hot knot burning in its middle.
Washing it away, the spirit reached another tendril, and then two more into her brain. "For now, do you not think we should continue? We're making such wonderful progress."
Lana gripped tighter to her shelf, she had more questions, ideas to try and drag this spirit out and discern its purpose but her failsafes weren't working. The spirit wrapped deeper into her mind and twanged upon a piece of heart instead. Willing it away with all the force in her mind, Lana sank to a knee, but she was helpless as her mind floated back to Skyhold.
9:40 Skyhold
Lana stuffed her mutinous hair back under the cloak's hood, but strands curled beyond recognition twisted out. On the plus side, at least she'd be cushioned by her helm of hair should anyone try to attack her head from the periphery. Rain drizzled across Skyhold for the past two days, rendering nearly every job moot as people scattered for the warmth and dryness of the fireplaces. She could have stayed in her room with Hawke, and been driven up the wall in the process, but she had something better to do. Clinging tight to the parchment pressed to her chest under the wool cloak, she walked along the dripping battlements. Clouds bulging with water drifted over the grey skies, threatening to drop even more upon the soaked world.
While it'd been at barely a drip when she entered the great hall to speak with Josephine, as she walked towards her destination, the rain increased. Drops splattered onto her hood and down her cheeks, the clean water dripping into her mouth. So many people hated the rain, but Lana extended her hand out watching the fall of water splash in her palm. With the world dampened down, she smelled the clover sweet scent of hay drifting far from the stables.
Tugging the hood down further in the hopes to salvage something of her hair, she pulled on the door to her destination. Cullen stood behind his desk, both arms straddling something important as he glared down upon in it with such concentration it looked as if he intended to head butt the document into submission. Careful to not disturb him, Lana softly shut the door, her fingers catching upon the lock. But of course, in this high of humidity, the hinges whined. Yet, the commander didn't look up at the sound; he seemed unaware of anything outside of his body beyond whatever he was looking upon.
Hers wasn't the only hair to abandon hope in the damp. Despite his best efforts, Cullen bore those familiar curls knotting along the front and sides of his head like waves rolling against the shore. She smiled, surprised to find how nostalgic she felt to see them again. His eyes hunted through the parchment, but he didn't move his face, his lips taut in deep concentration. That was when she noticed the red burn along the side of his jawline, as if he was straining to keep his teeth snapped tight.
"Cullen?" she all but whispered, not wanting to interrupt something important.
His body shuddered and it wasn't surprised or even annoyed eyes that snapped up to her. A terror haunted through them that caused Lana to whip her head back to the closed door. She half expected to find an army trying to break it down behind her. He twisted his head madly and lifted off from his desk. Cullen tried to cross his hands but she noticed they were shaking.
"What are you...? I didn't expect anyone to come out here," he said stamping his feet to get warm. It came as little surprise how drafty his tower could be given the decision to never repair the roof. With the rain, the chill seemed almost insurmountable, and Lana was grateful for her cloak.
She undid the first button upon her cloak and removed the protected missives, "Josephine asked me to deliver these to you." Lana extended them out to him. He took a moment as if he needed to pinch himself, then reached over to scoop them away quickly.
"Of course, right, the..." Cullen dropped the vellum to his desk on top of the others, his fingers swirling each piece around. "She mentioned sending these for reasons. No, I was to pick them up after, it doesn't matter."
"Are you...?" Lana stepped towards him. Those bags under his eyes hung distended upon flattened cheeks, the frown lines furrowed deep across his forehead. Something was clearly wrong. Another drop of rain slithered through the gaps in the roof and plopped on the floorboards above. Cullen's matte eyes screwed up tight and he sneered, shaking his head as if he bit into something bitter. How could she forget?
Sliding her fingers over top of his, Lana gripped onto his hand. "Is it the rain?"
He leaned back, as if about to remove his hand and deny it, but his lips fell slack and he nodded. "I try to ignore it as best I can, with work and..." Cullen's chin fell down to his chest as if he was confessing a sin to her. "The lyrium helped, before, to block the...um, sound, memories, all of it. But now."
Lana turned his fingers in hers and gripped tighter. Cold seeped off of his clammy hand. How long had he been squirreled away alone in here struggling against it? "I, I understand."
It took a moment before his fractured eyes lifted to hers, "I suppose you do. I don't want anyone else to know, to..."
"To use it against you," she smiled, then frowned from the pain picking behind her own eyes.
"To think lesser of me for it," he confessed, his head hanging low. He was a broken puppet, clinging by a lone string. H
is only connection to remain upright was through his hand clasping tight to hers.
"I would never..." Lana said, but she wasn't who he meant. He felt he needed to prove himself to the Inquisitor, to the entire Inquisition that he could be strong enough, sturdy enough to survive anything. Cullen bore that burden from every moment he woke until he slipped into a broken sleep whether it was asked of him or not. She ached to give him just a small taste of relief. "Here, I could dampen the sound with a spell-" Lana moved to yank her hand out of his grasp to cast it, but Cullen pinned it in place.
"No, no, it...it's not worth the trouble of you bothering. And I need to learn how to, to move past it."
"Cullen, it'd give you a few minutes of peace," she fought back, uncertain if he hated the idea of needing magic or her help.
"It's doubtful I'm worthy of that," he sighed, that last string cut. Lana caught his drooping chin in her fingers and she lifted him up. It felt as if she held his entire body in the palm of her hand.
"Sitting in here alone isn't going to help. What you need is...I have an idea. Will you come with me?"
His eyes hunted across her face, either trying to find a trick or an excuse to get him out of it. "I, you don't need to do this."
"Yes I do. It will help, I hope. Please. Do you trust me?"
A tender smile crossed his dour cheeks, "Always."
Without responding, Lana tugged him away from his desk. She didn't know Skyhold well and risked finding herself lost in the barracks or the library if not careful, but thanks to Hawke's extracurricular activities she knew how to find her destination easily. Cullen trailed behind her as they both stepped into the rain, his hand still clasped in hers. On occasion, he'd stare up at the wet sky and shake his hair growing curlier with every drop. It wasn't the first door, but the second they passed through when she turned to open the door upon the empty loft above Skyhold's only tavern.
"Why are we here?" Cullen asked. His eyes darted over to the far corner as if he spotted something unwanted there, but Lana guided him down the stairs. A raucous chorus drifted up the entire three levels. Without much to do in the rains, some of Skyhold's livelier characters took up residence in the bar - a few literally on the bar as sitting space was limited.
Heads swiveling in animated conversation were all she could see at first as the pair of them stepped down to the second landing. Below, the resident bard strung her lute absently, either waiting for inspiration to strike or for the Tevinter mage to stop encouraging everyone in a rousing song from his homeland. The fact no one else knew it did little to curb his enthusiasm. For some reason a chicken sat perched upon his head, but no one rushed to remove it.
When Lana reached the second level landing, she felt a few curious eyes wander past her to the discontent commander. A small embarrassment from the attention rolled up her cheeks and she released her grip on his hand. It was standing room only throughout the inn, but she didn't mind. Together they slid further back along the wall, the pair of them leaning against it beside a window. "This is by far the loudest place in Skyhold," Lana explained.
"I was already aware of that fact," Cullen grumbled, folding his arms against his chest.
"It can drown out the sound of the rain," she parted her empty hands.
Cullen smiled at the obvious answer he'd kept ignoring, "So it does. I... it seems as if everyone here had the same thought."
"To get completely drunk, forget the cold, then run around naked in the rain?" Lana said.
"You speak as if from a platform of experience."
"Traveled with Hawke for six months," she said, causing him to break into a sigh and laugh. Maker, it warmed her heart to hear that.
"How can I keep forgetting? Hawke's exploits were legendary even before she became the Champion in Kirkwall."
"Really? She never goes much into it, not much into anything in her past. I prefer to not pry," Lana shuffled her feet as she positioned herself flatter against the wall.
Cullen stood near enough to be with her, but far enough away to leave the reasons vague to anyone looking in. She understood why, but she regretted letting his strong hand slip away. "There were a few tales of giant spiders, dragons, taking down entire gangs of..."
"Oh that," Lana waved her hand, unimpressed at the list, "that's a tuesday for me."
"Waking naked on the chantry altar with a cassocked halla?" Cullen arched an eyebrow, his secret smile splitting across his cheeks.
"Okay, that one is beyond me. Point to my cousin. Was the halla an official chantry clergy member or just in the neighborhood at the time?"
Now Cullen laughed, his hard snort shooting out of his nose as he bent over. "I'm afraid I never heard the full of it, but the rumor kept the templars entertained for weeks."
"Commander!" a voice called through the sea of noise. They both turned to see a young man, barely at the shaving stage, pumping his hand in the air. He sat at one of the coveted tables surrounded by a sea of empty mugs and a pile of caprice coins.
Breaking from the wall, Cullen stepped towards him. "What is it?" the commander asked, all jocularity from before vanishing in the face of duty.
But the young man had no orders or problems the fearsome commander needed to address, "I wondered if you wanted to sit with us. Frank here's leaving."
Probably Frank grunted and half saluted as he swung out of the chair. He paused to steady his wobbly legs, then toddled on towards the stairs, his knuckles skimming near the floor as it was too much strain to stand up higher. "Oh," Cullen's gaze turned back to Lana, "that is kind of you, but I am with someone." She couldn't stop the blush from the implications. They weren't really with-with, right?
"That's no problem," the young man said. "Devney here can sit in my lap." He patted his thigh and a blonde dwarf giggled as she scampered out of her chair to crash upon his legs. "There ya go, two free chairs. Ser!"
Cullen turned back to her, but she could think of no easy excuse beyond setting the tavern on fire. Seeing as that would most likely endanger everyone inside and annoy the Inquisitor, Lana slipped past him and sat on the recently cleared chair. Without any escape, Cullen sighed and plopped into the other free one right beside her. While the polite man, his dwarven friend, and another member of their posse -- who seemed glued to the table -- had a picturesque view of the wall and a sliver of window, Lana could see down at Maryden finally shooing the tevinter mage away. Maker, what was his name? She wanted to say Gray for some reason.
With a rigid back, the commander's eyes darted around at the people of all walks of life curled together in the warm tavern to hide from the rain -- his people. Unfortunately, that made him not one of them, a fact growing more and more evident as no one at the table was certain what to talk about, the awkward silence deafening.
"Ah, forgive me, but I didn't catch your name," Lana said turning towards the young man.
"Sutherland, ma'am," he bobbed his head and smiled with a puppy dog expression. Lana felt an old ache for her mabari long since past the veil for this young man's exuberance. "And this here's Priggy," he jabbed a finger at the inebriated and/or asleep form.
"Priggy?" Cullen scoffed. "That cannot be his real name."
"Don't know, Ser. That's what he told us, and it's written across his smallclothes," Sutherland moved as if about to unearth the band to prove it.
"That's quite all right, I believe you," Cullen threw up both hands to try and quell what was coming.
"So," Deveny stopped her continuous giggle from her perch and pointed a finger from Cullen to the mysterious woman with her hood still drawn up, "how do you two know each other?"
Panic struck Cullen's face and he tried to cover it over with his hand. Smiling politely, Lana tossed back her soaked hood and said, "We're siblings."
"Ah..." both Deveny and Sutherland glanced from the dark haired, dark skinned tiny woman to the pale and blonde strapping man. "Didn't know you have family in the area," Sutherland responded with.
"Neither did I," Cullen said, the edg
e of his eyes drifting over to Lana. She only shrugged and ran her finger against the grain of the table. There was an odd knot almost in the shape of a snail drawing her attention.
"Well, lady, uh, commander's sister?" Sutherland stuttered to try and find a way to address her, "You're just in time."
"In time for what?" Cullen perked up, almost rising off the chair as if he needed to take down an army single handedly.
Below, Maryden bowed, the final strings of her lute solo fading away and taking with it all the conversations. Every eye in the tavern swiveled towards the hearth where the bard quickly vacated. In her place stepped that qunari, the one Hawke had a strange obsession with. He held his own lute with twice the strings as normal. It was dwarfed by his massive hands, as if the instrument was designed for a child.
"Oh Maker," Cullen groaned.
Coughing and then softly tuning his lute, the qunari twanged his strings, then paused. Bowing his head once to all four corners of the tavern, he raised his hand high and jammed down across every string. If one dumped a gallon of water onto a basket of cats it would approximate the noise screaming out of the lute. Lana turned to Cullen, the pair of them sharing an 'I have no idea what's happening' look. Well, it should provide an excellent distraction from the rain.
"Wait, wait," Sutherland bounced up, tossing around poor Deveny in his lap, "here comes the best part."
The qunari struck another oh, let's call it a chord, and a blonde woman leapt off the second story railing. She landed flat on both her feet and swung a metal drum around off her back. Someone in the audience tossed a bottle at her, and she caught it, lifting it up to match the qunari's strumming. With the bottle, she began to beat a surprisingly even tempo against the drum.
"Maker's breath, not Sera as well," Cullen moaned, his head knocking into the wall.
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