fadewalk | RP: Cullen (commandercullen)

Isenya stared at the eerie courtyard, trying to understand what was going on exactly.

That place seemed like the Skyhold she’d known, but once she really started looking at it she found several discrepancies; the reformed tower up in the battlements, the sparring ring missing in the courtyard and, of course, the most howling absence of any other living soul. She decided walk through the battlements, see what she could make up of that place, when she tripped in a small journal. Wary of anything inside the Fade, she poked it with the blade of her staff, waiting for something to happen. No magical reaction, no sudden appearance of a demon, no reaction at all. She picked it up, climbing the stairs.

There was a clear, powerful magic in place, a magic apparently stretching and reaching for every single corner of that Skyhold. Her steps and her breathing were mostly the only thing she could hear, aside from the odd, crushing silence, but at least she’d be able to hear anyone approaching from miles away. She was near the end of her round, just above the stables, when she heard something. Eyes darting to the direction where she heard the noise, she felt all the air being expelled from her lungs at once: Commander Cullen.

Maker, the demons have already begun to mess up with my head.

Unfortunately, not the first time such thing happened.
Certainly not the last one, either.

Isenya climbed down the stairs, careful to not be seen, back firmly pressed against the cold stone. Inhaled and expelled the air once, then twice, keeping her mind clear and shielding her heart.

That’s not him. Just a desire demon. That’s not him.

She left her cover, blade pointed at him.
Might get some answers before as well.

“Start talking, demon, and I might give you a merciful death, which is far more than your kin deserves.” her blue eye shone with her magic when she spoke through gritted teeth “What is this place? What is going on?”

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Cullen had also noticed the discrepancies between this place and the Skyhold he knew - the Skyhold he called home, more than he had any place in years. It made him uneasy. The green tint to the sky was all wrong, and he could feel the magic in the air. It felt greasy against his skin, unnatural, like the stillness and lack of life around him.

Probably, he thought, he had made it back to his tower and sat down for a moment and fallen asleep. He couldn't remember that, but dreams were funny that way, and he had learned after Kinloch to distrust his dreams on principle. They might begin harmless, if suspicious, like this one, but eventually the nightmare would show its face. He would dream of the tower ten years ago, the bodies of his friends and the demon's attempts to break his mind, or he would dream of Meredith's mad eyes lit by the red of the damned sword. Lately, after Therinfall Redoubt, he would dream of those who had been his brothers, twisted by the red lyrium, and always, always, the envy demon wearing the Inquisitor's face. The dreams with Isenya were still the worst, after all this time, in which...No. He would not think of those.

Cullen loosened his sword in its sheath and went to step forward. It was better to prepare himself now for whatever was coming. His boot connected with a strange bound journal as he did so, the book skittering forward along the grass, and Cullen bent and retrieved it. He was just starting to rifle through it when a voice interrupted him. He dropped the book back to the ground and drew his sword in the space of a breath, shifting into a ready stance and eyeing the bladed staff pointed at him and the glint of barely contained magic in its wielder's eyes warily.

"I don't answer the demands of unknown mages threatening to kill me," he growled back. Distantly, he registered that the mage's hair was the exact shade of red that Isenya's had been.

Unknown mage?What in the Void...
That line nearly broke Isenya’s stance.

That demon wasn’t acting as any other she’d faced before. Desire demons tried to lure with soothing words and enticing behavior, giving anything one’s mind could ask for. Despair demons would search your mind after your deepest regrets, throw it back at you and break you with guilty and hopelessness. That was slightly close to a rage demon, from its reaction, but she couldn’t be sure. That line didn’t fit in place. Isenya narrowed her eyes, studying the ‘man’ in front of her.

“Unknown? Really, Commander? This is how you want to play it?”

Her blood was boiling.
Being ignored was already bad enough. But that?
That was too far.

Cullen shifted his grip on his hilt, his uneasiness growing. She seemed enraged, and he didn't know what she was capable of, but unknown mages were always a risk, whether or not she took issue with that assessment. He took a breath.

This was not going according to plan. Or script. Or whatever torturous plot it was that his dreams generally followed. He felt off-balance - so long as he knew what to expect, he could withstand his nightmares, but she wasn't offering him his heart's desire or threatening him with any of the things he feared. The mage seemed...hurt, really, underneath her anger.

"I don't know you," he finally said, not dropping his sword. "And I'm fairly certain this is a dream, but I can assure you I don't play in my nightmares. You though, I cannot speak for."

The woman scoffed, her lips pursed in an odd, frustrated smile.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but you’re wrong. First, this is not a dream. Second, you do know me.” her anger was now sharing her eyes with pain. She opened her mouth to say something else, to confront him, but doing so would lead nowhere. If he was a demon, the better course of action was to make it reveal itself as soon as possible and engaging its mind game was definitely the wrong way to do so. And if he wasn’t…

Well.
What’s the damn point on doing so?

She opened her mouth once again, but the words didn’t come up. She was already fighting the urge to cry at her anger, at her disappointment, at her frustration. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head and lowering her staff. “You know what? Whatever, Cullen.”

There was something familiar about her, niggling at the back of his brain, but Cullen couldn't place it, quite. If this wasn't a dream, she could be any number of mages he'd met over the years. They were many - perhaps that was why he could not remember. And if she was lying (the more probable reality, he thought), this was some trick, some ploy to get him to let his guard down before the real pain began. He would not be so easily fooled.

He watched her fight back tears and then there was a sudden dull ache behind his breastbone; it felt like sympathy, concern, even...distress at her pain. But he didn't know why.

Cullen grit his teeth and fought the emotion back down. "Explain," he said, voice cool, still not lowering his blade.

“Explain? Explain?!” her so far controlled voice raised a pitch “The only thing in need of explanation here is how exactly I was stupid enough to bed you, in the first place!” she was not yelling at him, but perhaps that wouldn’t sound that bad if she was. “No, allow me to correct myself. There is yet another thing in need of explanation, and this would be if either are your that wasted from Lyrium you can’t even remember me or if are you just pretending you don’t remember me. Can’t decide which scenario is worst though.”

She was pacing, her blue eye piercing through his golden ones, knuckles turning white from the tight grip on her staff. “Of course, let’s not forget you could be just a demon, since we’re inside the Fade. The most annoying demon I ever faced, for sure.”

"Bed me?" Cullen's stance faltered, the word coming out more of a squeak than anything. "Maker's breath." He took a step back. Not a dream, then. Probably. Everyone he met in his dreams knew he was no longer taking lyrium - it was always a factor in the temptation, in the torture. But if it wasn't a dream, then this woman was clearly insane. The only mage - the only woman - he had slept with in years was Isenyah, and she was-

"Dead," he muttered, not realizing he spoke. Most likely, anyways - what were the odds she would have survived the mage-templar fighting and managed to have avoided the explosion at the conclave? Slim to none, he had thought, when his thoughts turned to her, though really she had been dead to him for years. His conscience pricked him at the lie, even if it was just in his head.

This mage...Cullen studied her more closely. She had Isenya's hair, or at least the color, but the woman he had known had worn hers long. He had loved it. He remembered. She couldn't be...could she?

"I no longer take it," he said, again without quite meaning to. He flushed, shifting nervously on his feet. "The lyrium, I mean."

Isenya rolled her eyes.
“Dead? You wish.” she chuckled, sardonic, gaze diverting from the man standing in front of her. “No, definitely not dead. Quite dramatic line of thought, I must say.”

No, not dead.
Though certainly there were moments she wished she was. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been with the Inquisition since the Conclave, when lady Cassandra took us in, working with the healers.” He thought I was dead… not an entirely absurd assumption. But… but not being recognized was hurtful. Isenya was aware of how much she had changed, but a small part of her wished to believe somewhere inside that pitiful meat shell branded by years of combat there was still something left of her past self. Now she learned there was nothing.

You lose an eye and he’s the one blinded. Figures.

She was still mad at him, mad for years of bottled feelings, mad for Cullen had never bothered to even write her when he was transferred to Kirkwall. But now the initial fury had subsided a little. An involuntary and somewhat admired Oh escaped her mouth when he told her about the Lyrium. Isenya had to remind herself she was still mad at him. And wary, not quite convinced he wasn’t a demon yet.

"Never," Cullen's voice was fervent, hushed. Wish her dead? He was appalled.

It didn't seem possible, and yet, the longer he studied her, the more he could see it. Ten years was a long time, and Maker knew he bore the marks of it on his own face - in the scar at his lip, the wrinkles at the corners of his eye and his brow when he frowned, even the way he styled his hair now. Whenever he thought of Isenya, he'd thought of her as how she had been. He had frozen her in his memory, and it hadn't even occurred to him to question how foolish that was.

Cullen shook himself and lowered his sword arm. "Since the Conclave? But that means..." It meant she'd known all along he was leading their forces, and still not deigned to approach him. He had been living in the same castle as her for months, and never known. He rubbed the back of his neck and turned partially away, but not before a flash of hurt crossed his face. What more had he expected? She had spurned him years ago, when he'd been transferred to Kirkwall. Of course she would not seek him out. For her, their being in close quarters again would change nothing.

Never.
Isenya wished to believe, truly wished, but she knew better than that. His gaze made her slightly uncomfortable and she tried to follow it, but in the end she just stared at the walls, stealing a glance here and there of him as she'd done in the past months. Maker, how many times she thought about approaching him...? But he never wrote, never cared... and now... now the past felt so, so distant.

"This means..." she picked up from where he left "We both know how important is your presence in Skyhold right now. The real one, of course. We must find you a way out of here." her voice was firm, slightly impersonal and way different from the tone she used with him in another lifetime. She'd never saw herself as a leader until the senior mages voted her for First Enchanter, but since that day she had improved her compartmentalization skills. That wasn't time to hold to petty grudges.

Edited Date: 2015-11-15 05:41 am (UTC)

That was it? That was all she had to say, that they needed to get back because the Inquisition needed him? He sheathed his sword in one swift movement, metal rasping on metal, and tried to ignore his hurt. He knew she didn't care about him, had known it for years, but to have the evidence of it right in front of his face, to be so easily dismissed...by the Maker, but it should not have pierced him so very deeply.

Cullen set his jaw. Two could play at this game. He was past her, he really was, and that was why he had allowed himself to begin a tentative relationship with the Inquisitor in the first place.

"Of course," he echoed, dully, and then his voice strengthened, became brisk and emotionless. "What can you tell me about this place?"

Something changed on his voice and that was more annoying than she should allow it to. Cullen always had seemed the decent type, so Isenya thought he was less likely play with her feelings on purpose but now... now she wasn't so sure. First things first, woman!

"Not much yet, I'm afraid. If the reports about the Fade are half accurate, we're currently inside it, probably due the powerful magic we can feel here. Don't know why though. This requires more research." she recalled the leather journal she stuffed inside her pocket, wondering if it was important "Also found this." she held it "I was about to examine it when I found you."

Cullen rubbed a hand up and down his arm, a useless gesture through all the layers of armor he was wearing, but a reflexive one nonetheless. "Yes, it feels...strange. Unnatural." He shivered slightly and then focused on the journal she produced. "I found one too. Where did I..." his voice trailed off as he looked down and around him until he found where he'd dropped his book in the dust. He scooped it up.

"Perhaps it's important?" he questioned, mystified, and opened his to flip through it.

Instinctively, she closed the distance between them to read the jornal with him, opening the one she had found. Their content was identical, several pages filled with notes and reports from people she didn't know. Another Cullen? A Warden called Surana? Maker... what is all of this?

Isenya was so focused on the journals it took her some time before she noticed how close to Cullen she was. Close enough to smell him and to feel his warmth, still familat for her. She was able to avoid pulling away from him, forcing herself to stay and pretend nothing was wrong, though her rising blushing meant exactly the opposite.

Cullen shifted his journal to one hand so he could rub at the the back of his neck as he read. The headache from before was getting more insistent now, yet another sign that this was real and no dream. He closed his eyes. He wasn't sure how he was going to get rid of the pain, not here. There would be no letting his guard down, but he was already exhausted.

His elbow brushed Isenya's arm as he opened his eyes and straightened, sending a flash of heat through him that prickled the hair on his arms and pooled at the small of his back. And, undoubtedly, flooded his cheeks with fitful color. Blessed Andraste, how was it she had such an effect on him after all these years? He stepped sideways slightly, mumbling, "Forgive me," but he couldn't have said if he was apologizing for bumping her or for his ridiculous reaction to her proximity or simply for how much of an embarrassed buffoon he was being.

"Ah...this is...odd," he started over, when he trusted himself to speak. "Some peculiar side effect of Morrigan's eluvian, it would appear? Or, whatever broken one they have here. Maker's breath, I don't know. I've never heard of magic like this."

Isenya was a healer experienced enough to know when someone was trying to think about something other than pain, registering Cullen's gestures. Probably something related to Lyrium withdraw. She was about to speak when his arm touched hers and something stirred inside her chest, causing her to blush. She took a step to her side too, clearing her throat. "I've read theories about it, but it's what they are, theories. Multiple dimensions, how the Eluvians worked as doors through space and the Veil. But a mage can't possibly have enough mana to cast such spelk without being noticed. And all this people here, going through the same... " she sighed.

"I'd like to talk to the other mages, see what they can make of it." then, she looked at Cullen, a small, familiar crease between her brows "I can also cast a simple spell to help you with the pain." as usual, her offerings sounded more like orders than offers, at least those related to one's health.

Cullen gave her a measured look, fighting to keep his expression even, his blush down. "You would know better than I on the matter," he admitted. His proximity to mages over the years didn't mean he understood the complexities of spells such as these. It was beyond his strategic strengths.

When she offered - or, demanded, really - to help with the pain he frowned, and looked away. "It's nothing," he deflected quickly. "Just a headache."

Isenya was clearly unconvinced by his dismissal by the looks on her face and the low humming on her throat. She thought about not insisting further, afraid of getting too close of him again, but if they were to face combat, better to be as well as possible. “Pain is a handicap we can’t afford in an unknown place. People here have already faced an envy demon, according to this.” she flipped through pages, showing it for Cullen “I’m not getting an ‘it’s nothing’ for an answer.” her chin tilted upwards a little and she quirked her eyebrow, decided.

In fact, she also wanted the chance to verify if he was a demon or not and use the casting of a simple spell to examine the Veil and if it worked just like in her world. There was also a part of her screaming to take care of him, but she was trying to ignore it.

From a practical standpoint, Cullen had to agree. He would be next to useless after the day he'd had if this continued, and they didn't know what they might face here. He sighed.

"You always were stubborn about your healing." That was good, though. It meant the woman he had known was still in this stranger. But did that make things easier, or harder? Cullen pushed the thought away - he didn't need to be thinking about what might have been, not now. Not ever. "Very well." He inclined his head.

“Yes, true, but now I’ve learned how to reason with people so I won’t look stubborn when I’m doing so.” Isenya returned her staff to her back and was about to place her hands over the sides of his head when she cut the motion mid-air, awkwardly cleaning her throat “Well, excuse me.”

Maker, that was odd, very odd.
Isenya didn’t close her eyes to focus, not wishing to be caught off-guard in case she was facing the most peculiar demon in the world, trying not to stare Cullen too much. A soft and warm sea green light shone from the palms of her hands as she worked to dissipate the pain and fatigue. The Veil worked exactly the same as she was used to and she was now convinced the man standing in front of her was Cullen indeed, not a demon. And she couldn’t decide whether it was good or not.

When she was done with the spell, her hands lingered for a few more seconds straddling his face, her focused expression softening and turning into something slightly pained. The past is in the past and there is nothing to be back to.

Cullen chuckled quietly, though he wasn't entirely sure he believed her. He gave her an odd look at her hesitation and didn't protest when her hands came up to frame his face, although he tensed at the touch. And then her magic washed over him and all the tension went out of him at once. He closed his eyes and sighed in relief.

When the spell stopped, Cullen's eyes drifted open again, and he was surprised to find her still close to him, touching him, looking at him with...what? Fondness, almost? His brow furrowed. He gripped one of her wrists lightly with calloused fingers and tilted his head. "Isenya..."

No. No, that was not okay. Did she think she could just show up and act as though nothing had changed between them, after ignoring him for the better part of the decade? He wasn't a boy anymore. He wasn't going to fall all over himself for her affection, not again. He stepped back, his expression closing off, though his fingers lingered on her wrist until the last second, and attempted to ignore the pull in his chest towards her, still.

Her heartbeat increased at his touch, her wrist burning with his warmth. She didn’t notice her accelerated breathing out of anxiety, body leaning towards his without a second thought. His golden gaze always made her chest flutter and left her stomach and legs funny and now was no different, but she had to be smarter than it. He’d said her name with so much hesitation and pain now and she looked away, avoiding his eyes and feelings. Trying to avoid the memories coming back now, one after another. Maker… how could he still have all that power over her?

And then, he just pulled away abruptly, expression hardening. Her chest, flooding with her emotions until then, went hollow at once and she had to bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling, her hand holding the same wrist he’d been, close to her chest now. Eye widening, she stepped back, not sure of what to do next.

Stupidstupidstupid…

In the past, young Isenya would’ve run away, embarrassed. The urge to do so was present, but she wasn’t the same girl anymore, her disconcerted expression turning into bitter scowl.
“My apologies. Should’ve known better than expecting something from someone who didn’t even bother to write me so I could know he was alive.” Isenya made a mocking curtsy, turning on her heels to leave. “Commander.”

Cullen wasn't expecting the rapid change of emotions, vulnerability and uncertainty followed quickly by bitterness and anger, on Isenya's face. He wasn't expecting the anger at all, and his surprise gave way quickly to indignance. She was angry with him? After she had been the one to...

Her words hit him like a blow to the stomach, so much so that he actually stepped back, and then she curtsied and turned to leave and he stepped forward again.

"What?" he asked, baffled. "I wrote you. I wrote only you. You never responded!" And there it was, years of resentment and hurt in his voice, emotions he thought he had moved beyond, but just seeing her, hearing her blame him brought them all spilling back to the surface.

She halted, body stiffening when she looked at him over her left shoulder “Oh please, try to keep at least a bit of your dignity—“ --and spare me the lies; except she could see he wasn’t. He wrote? Only to her? But then… what had happened to the letters? The hurt look on his face crossed her heart like a knife.

“When you were transferred, I prayed every day… Every. Single. Day. To hear from you. Knight-Captain wouldn’t say anything, neither master Irving. I only knew you were alive months after, when I spoke to a friend from the Gallows during a meeting of the College of Enchanters.” Isenya stepped closer to him at every phrase, chin tilted so she could look Cullen in the eye. I thought…” her voice faltered and she swallowed hard, pulling away a little “I thought, after what happened in Kinloch Hold, you couldn’t bear the thought of me… being a mage. Not a single letter reached me.”

Cullen stepped towards her, pulled by a force he couldn't deny or escape, and caught her hands in his before he could think better of it. Was it possible? How could he have been so blind? All these years of unhappiness, the downward spiral into loathing and fear of all the mages under his care were capable of, and it hadn't been her fault at all. Of course it hadn't.

"I should have known," he said, aggrieved, voice gone low and hoarse with emotion. "An unstable templar, exchanging letters with a mage? Of course they knew what we were to each other - Greagoir knew all these things. And after what happened, after Uldred, and..." his voice shook, and he shook his head. "After all that, they would have been more diligent. But I - I wasn't rational, then, I was..."

He let her go but didn't retreat. "You were the one light in all that madness, and when you never answered, I thought, what good could come of loving a mage, what good was any of it? My trust in mages had only ever been rewarded with pain."

The one light in all that madness; Isenya chuckled weakly, blushing and looking away for a moment. She’d suspected she’d have problems on exchanging letters with Cullen when he was transferred, but she never actually had any proof of it. And with months and years passing by, stories about the Gallows reaching Kinloch Hold, she ended up convincing herself the Cullen she’d known had died after the rebellion, only wariness and hate towards mages left. She was ashamed for thinking ill of Cullen.

“I’d rather die before causing you any pain, Cullen.” She held his hands again, a firm and gentle grip, a determined look on her face “You were the best part of my life as a mage. I never felt alone in the Tower because I saw my kin as my family, but I was so naïve I could hardly believe when many of the ones I once called friends tried to kill me or the others. After the rebellion, you were the only one I could completely trust. But then you were gone and…” she sighed “Why would I approach you during the Inquisition?—“

The Inquisition.
The Inquisitor.

She let go off his hands as if burnt. “I-I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to…”
To what? To court him again?
Well, she did want to but he was out of her reach for good now.

Cullen made his hand into a fist and pressed the backs of his knuckles to his mouth, torn through at her talk of trust. And then he had gone and left her, not that it was his choice, not that he would have been able to bear walking those halls again as if nothing had happened after all the friends he had lost and all he had endured. He had not been himself, not for a long time, but to think so little of her for all these years?

It was just another thing to add to his long, long list of regrets.

"To yell at me for abandoning you?" he suggested, the hint of humor in his voice weak, but present. "To give me a piece of your mind for my negligence?"

His brow creased at the apology. "Didn't mean to what?" he asked, voice gentling. Maker's breath, it took so little for her to affect him so deeply. His hands itched to touch her again.

She smiled, shaking her head. Maker how could he undo her and years of anger that easily? "No... those things I meant." she chuckled "What I don't mean is to..." To stand between him and the Inquisitor? Please woman, don't be so full of yourself! "To... well... you and Lady Inquisitor..."

Isenya looked away, as red as her hair now.

Cullen's lips parted in a silent 'oh.' He paused, a flush creeping up his face and neck, and rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly. He hadn't even thought...a few moments alone, all his misconceptions about the past turned upside down, and any thoughts of Evalina had gone completely out of his head.

"I..." He didn't have the faintest idea what to say to that. "Yes. Well. That. Eva- the Inquisitor and I are..." They still hadn't quite decided what they were, frankly, although Cullen would be lying to say there wasn't something between them. Did Isenya's reappearance and the truth change all that? It had been so long...

"It has been years, Isenya," he finally said, unhappy with how tender her name sounded in his mouth. "Surely you don't expect me to not want to...catch up?"

"So, this is how people is calling it now? 'Catching up'?" she teased, still red as her hair. Isenya reached for his cheek, running her thumb over his skin oh so lightly, feeling the rough texture of his stubble. She adjusted rebel strand of his hair back in place, missing the curly and fluffy feeling of his hair, which she could spend hours and hours smoothing. "I missed you."

"More or less," Cullen said, his lips curving. He watched her as she reached up to him, marveling at even this, just...seeing her again, speaking to her, without the pain and anger that had dogged his thoughts of her all this time.

"I missed you too," he murmured, closing his eyes. He covered her hand on his cheek with his own and opened his eyes again. "Even when I thought I hated you, I still...I still missed you. So much."

"I'm glad I'm here now. Glad we cleared the air." she stepped closer "You grew into a very fine man, Cullen. I'm proud of you." her voice was flooding with real admiration and fondness, more than she thought she was capable of. She was still stroking his hair, hand moving to the back of his neck. His scent was so good she could drown on it, on him, completely lose track of anything.

Isenya traced the scar on his upper lip with her index finger absently. Without noticing, she was biting her lower lip as she traced his, her gaze registering how his features had changed with the time passage. Andraste’s mercy… she wanted him. They were lost inside the Fade, not a single clue of a way of coming back and she just wanted him.

Edited Date: 2015-11-17 05:59 pm (UTC)

Cullen felt his cheeks suffuse with warmth at the praise, praise he wasn't quite sure he had earned. "You would not say that if you had seen the man I was for a long time," he whispered, looking away. So much anger - hatred - all this time. He was still overcoming the prejudices that had blinded him for so long.

He couldn't keep the distance up with Isenya so near, and her fingers in his hair drew his gaze back to her face. He should have been asking after how she had spent the years, or planning some way to escape from wherever they were, but she was touching him so, so gently, with a familiarity that time had not erased, and Cullen wanted...he wasn't sure what he wanted. His eyes dropped to her bitten lips. "Isenya..." he breathed.

“Hmm… good thing I’m seeing the man you are since the Inquisition, then.” She smiled with simplicity, hands coming to frame his jaw “With the rebellion and the war later, there isn’t a single person involved which hasn’t done or went through something they’re far from being proud of.” her eye dropped from his and she looked away “But what your regrets leads you to is more important than the regret itself, I believe.”

She pressed her hands against his jaw in a reassuring way, lips parting oh so slightly when he breathed her name. Body flush against his armor, she tiptoed and tilted her head a little to her side, moving half-way for a kiss. “…Yes?” she whispered, her breath tickling his lips.

Cullen tilted his head in her grasp, rubbing his cheek against her hand. Her palms were warm on his face, and they sent a shiver of heat right through him. The gentle touching was driving him mad. No one had touched him like this in so long; with Evalina there had been kissing, at last, but nothing so familiar, so unassuming. She reached up to him and he though, briefly, that she would kiss him, but then she was waiting, so close he could feel her breathing, and any resolve Cullen had cracked.

He shuddered and barely managed to choke out, "Maker," before he was dipping down the scant inches between them and capturing her lips with his.

Isenya closed her eye and moved her hands to wrap his neck, slowly savoring the kiss. Her heart was hammering inside her chest and all emotions and feelings for Cullen, put aside for a long time, came back coiling and crashing. For years she tried to be over him, to keep away from her mind someone she thought didn’t cared about her anymore and now… now that she found out he had written her, thought about her and was left as just as heartbroken… Andraste’s mercy.

She still loved him.

He was different and so was she, but the feeling was all the same. His mouth still tasted good and she resisted the urge to bite his lip as she had done many times before, not wanting to rush things. Well… this, of course, provided they went past the kissing and… well, better not rush things.

Cullen swept her hair off her cheek and cradled her face with both hands, his eyes closing as he kissed her. It was strange how easily, how rightly, they came together after all this time, but Cullen couldn't hold onto the strangeness, and the longer they touched the more the voice in the back of his head telling him to stop and think about this faded. He tilted her head back and bent more to her, and when she her lips parted slightly he groaned and ran his tongue along the inside of her upper lip.

Isenya’s body stiffened for a split second when Cullen cupped her cheeks, but his warmth, his smell, how familiar and how right that kiss felt was enough to melt her reasoning once again. Her body arched to meet his and his tongue swept her upper lip and Maker. How long since she felt so warm, so good from just kissing…?

“C-Cullen…wait.”

Somehow, her reasoning managed to take over again, her hands coming to rest softly over his chest. She was recovering her breath, body tensed again. “So much happened all these past years… I-I…” she closed her eye, trying to find the words “We should talk.”

Cullen felt her tense underneath his hands and that, as much as her words, made him draw back reluctantly, but only far enough to drop his forehead against hers.

"Talking. Yes," he agreed, trying to breathe when all he wanted was to kiss her again. He couldn't feel her hands on his breastplate but imagined he could, imagined the warmth of them sinking into his chest. His thumbs brushed along the line of her cheekbone. He tilted his head and then inhaled and opened his eyes and stepped back, hands dropping to her waist. Maker's breath, but she undid him.

But he'd brushed her hair back a moment before and now he froze. "Isenya...your eye."

Her hand was quick to move to cover her right eye, head turning to avoid his surprised gaze. Isenya needed all her willpower to not step away, to not flinch, but that was only one of a long list of things she’d lost during the war and the Conclave; Some of the wounds were still open, still bleeding.

“Y-yes, about this…” she hesitated, a faint sad smile curving her lips “Ironic how difficult is to heal yourself when you need most.” then, a sigh “Kinloch Hold was a beautiful, peaceful circle before Uldred. After the rebellion, everything changed, unfortunately not for the best. Nothing like the Gallows, no, but its fall during the war was far from being graceful.”

Clearly, there was more to the story, but she lacked the right words. So much more she wanted to say and tell, but she feared Cullen would feel responsible it too.

Cullen stared at her in shock, not sure what to say or even what to feel. The war had taken its toll on so many, and while he'd guessed that it meant Isenya was dead, really, on a deeper level, he'd just...left her untouched in his mind, by the fighting or time or even the loss of him. He bore many scars from the recent fighting himself, not just the one on his lip. Not that they were anything close to the loss of any eye...

He caught her wrist, aching that she felt the need to hide from him. "The war has been ugly to all of us," he said, then cringed slightly. "Isenya, I am so sorry."

“Please, you don’t have to.” she slightly turned her head to look at him, fingers running soft and absently over the scarred skin “A fellow mage once told me I should carry my scars with pride since it’s a sign of what I survived. I just… can’t. I don’t feel proud of being here… not after everything.”

Isenya looked away again. “When Master Irving died and the senior mages voted me as new First Enchanter, soon before everything went south I… all I wanted was to keep everyone safe. Now I’m here and they are not. The few who survived are enslaved by the Venatori, controlled and strip from everything they once were, everything they stood for. I failed them.” she chuckled, weakly “Sorry, I’m being too boring and depressing, aren’t I?”

Cullen's brow furrowed as he listened. "You don't need to apologize," he said quietly. "That guilt, for surviving when others did not, for no reason beyond happenstance..." he sighed. "It still plagues me when I think about the rebellion and all those we lost at Kinloch." To say nothing of Kirkwall and how many lives he might have saved had he recognized Meredith's madness sooner.

He tilted his head, pulled her hand away from her face and kissed her palm. "Do you...do you dream about it, still, what happened then?"

Her shoulders eased a little from his touch, the warmth irradiating from him the only thing keeping her steady at the growing pit on her stomach. “Everything happened.” Isenya started, softly “When the College of Magi was dissolved and all meetings were canceled, things got tense in the Tower. Master Irving and Knight-Commander managed to hold things up, but the mages were feeling trapped and the templars wanted to tighten our leashes, afraid of a new rebellion. Well, not without reason.” she paused, swallowing hard “One day, there was a very heated arguing in the commons, can’t even remember why. Templars pushed, mages pushed back and it didn’t take long for things to get ugly. In the middle, we were trying to reason, Irving, me and other senior mages, trying to solve things without violence but you know how those things can be.”

Isenya chuckled, closing her eye and taking a deep breath, the memories she tried to push away slowly taking over her mind. “Master Irving was killed by a young templar, an accident. Everyone was so shocked the fighting stopped and Knight-Commander was able to put everything back in place. Few days after, he asked the senior mages to organize and vote a new First Enchanter and I was elected. Things were bad, though. We wanted a suited punishment for the templar who had killed Irving and when Greagoir failed to provide it, a group of mages decided to take justice in their hands. This unleashed chaos over us all.”

Without noticing, she reached for his hand, holding it to keep her own from trembling. The tips of her fingers were cold as dead itself. “We fought for over a month, holding our position in the higher floors, no contact with the outside world or the rest of the Tower. Rebels killed Greagoir at some point and, without his lead, templars decided to null the Circle. We were all gathered to execution, a lost barricade after another. Some of us were tortured after the Circle’s secrets and information on artifacts.” she shivered, eye wide with fear “We had no option but to join the rebels and fight back. It was a slaughter, on both sides. Many fled.” her shoulders were trembling now and she changed her weight from a leg to another, uneasy, voice cracking “S-sorry… I… I-I can’t.”

Edited Date: 2015-11-28 01:26 am (UTC)