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shannaraisles · 6 years

Text

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 74/74 <--- THE END!!! Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

As the great gate opened, the inner portcullis rising, the Inquisitor did not spur his own horse onward, instead looking back at the commander with a wide grin. Kaaras was just as eager as Cullen to return home and meet the newest member of their strange little family, but he wasn't about to steal Cullen's thunder.

"You first, commander," he ordered with a cheery nod, the haunted look from Adamant gone from his eyes for now. "There's someone in there who really wants to meet you." Cullen felt the stirring of quiet panic in his chest as he spurred his horse on, past the Qunari warrior and his inner circle of friends and companions. Yes, Rory was waiting. But so was someone else, someone who had been born on the night Adamant fell. While he had been far away, leading a siege that had killed too many for the wrong cause, the woman he loved had been laboring to bring their firstborn into the world. The symmetry there was too much to ignore; they had lost a good friend and ally, among so many others, and gained a new life in their midst, all in the course of a single night. But what if the child didn't like him? What if he frightened the little one for whom he would gladly give his life, even never having met her? He was a warrior; the blood on his hands was too thick to wash away. This innocent life he had helped to create ... would he ever feel worthy to call himself their father? A ragged cheer went up from merchants and workers alike as the party rode into Skyhold, welcoming home the Inquisitor and his companions, glad to see them returned hale and well, despite the losses sustained in the Western Approach. For once, Cullen's eyes did not scan the battlements to check the guard rotation, turning instead toward the wide stone steps up to the upper courtyard, where she had said she would be waiting for him in her last letter. He felt a weight lift from his heart as his gaze found vibrant red hair, a wide warm smile, one arm raised to wave to him, to catch his attention. The other arm wrapped securely about a small bundled form cradled against herself as she continued down the steps to meet them. He was vaguely aware that both Josephine and Leliana were walking with Rory, both warily watchful to be certain she didn't slip, but his body was already moving, swinging down from his horse to stride toward his wife. "Took you long enough, didn't it?" were her first words to him, and Cullen felt himself release a low chuckle at the familiarly fond irritation he should have known was waiting for him. "You owe me, commander." "Ever at your service, healer," he answered her, dipping his head to taste her lips, to feel her smile, and know that he had returned from death yet again. Rory's fingers teased into his hair, delicately tracing the still faint swelling around the healing bruise at his temple as she answered his kiss with her own, shameless in pouring her relief and affection into that one moment of contact in front of everyone they knew before her hand dropped to his chest to ease him back. "Careful," she murmured. "We're squashing your daughter." "My ... our daughter." Just saying that brought a strange flush to his face. I have a daughter. The old familiar panic welled up, but Rory's fingers touched his cheek, her expression softening as she recognized that look in his eyes. Her mouth opened, but he took hold of himself, nodding swiftly to cut off the reassurance he didn't want others around them to hear that he needed, and forced himself to look down at the infant in her arms. Big blue eyes blinked up at him, focusing with curious intensity on this new face that mama seemed to be so relaxed with, so happy to see. He hadn't been expecting blue eyes; he'd hoped for gray, like Rory's, though it seemed that their daughter had inherited her mother's hair. The soft crop of thicker down on the top of her head was definitely red. The nose was familiar, almost depressingly so. She'd inherited his nose, for certain. Cullen held that solemn gaze for what felt like a small eternity, just as solemn in return, studying the child just as she studied him. He couldn't say she was beautiful - as far as he was concerned, no baby was ever beautiful. She was small, and bright-eyed, and unafraid of him. That was all the reassurance he needed. "She needs a name," Rory murmured softly, watching as he slowly removed his glove, as his hand reached out tentatively to cup his palm over the soft heat of their daughter's head. A name ... His throat seemed to choke closed for a brief moment as he rubbed his thumb over the delicate brow, enthralled by the way the little head wriggled gently into his palm, the big eyes blinked above a chubby-cheeked hint toward a smile. Rory's letters since the birth had laid the responsibility for naming their daughter firmly in his lap, with amusing commentary on the various suggestions Josephine, Leliana, and Granthis had been making in lieu of having a proper name to call the baby by. Even that responsibility had felt like too much. How could he name a child he had not seen, who had been born so many miles away on such a terrible night? Yet here and now, looking into the eyes of his daughter, the name he had been toying through his mind since hearing the news seemed perfect. "Alys," he said hoarsely, swallowing to clear his throat as he glanced up to meet Rory's eyes, knowing she would recognize the bitter-sweetness in their firstborn's name and understand it. Her smile was sad, but pleased, her stormy eyes calm as she nodded. She did not seem surprised by his choice - yet another reminder that this woman, for all her oddities and unfathomable memory lapses, was more his match than anyone he had ever known. "Alys would very much like to cuddle her papa, Cullen," she said in a soft tone, her smile flashing into a grin at the sudden panic he knew flickered across his face. "She knows you already, love. I'm not going to coddle you or do all the work now you're home." "I don't mean for you to do all the work, I simply ..." Cullen flailed for an excuse. "I ... am wearing my armor. It will not be comfortable for her." "So take it off," Rory suggested bluntly. "I am not disrobing in the middle of the courtyard," he countered, a little flustered that she would even suggest it. His wife laughed, and despite his bristling, he found himself smiling to hear the sound. It had been a long time since he had heard her laugh, seen her smile. More than two months on campaign - his first true campaign, though he had lived his life by the sword. It had taken everything he had to ride away from her, knowing that when he returned, it could be to an empty home. In truth, he had feared more for her in childbirth than for his own life in battle, trusting in the Inquisitor and his own forces to deliver him safely from harm. For a moment, he was transported back to the camp, the day before they laid their night siege ... to the odd quietness of men and women who knew that some of them would not be coming home, the gentle camaraderie, the talk of home and family and the provisions they had each left behind them in case the worst should happen. He hadn't known that, while he was connecting with his troops at this very personal level, Rory had been suffering through the first throes of a labor that had dragged on for more than twelve hours, yet in hindsight, it seemed almost appropriate. As he had suffered with the knowledge of the deaths he presided over, she had struggled to bring one precious new life into this world. This life, this child ... my daughter. Without thinking, his hands rose to the buckles on his pauldrons, and to his surprise, another pair of hands joined his - Cassandra, who had somehow managed to stand close enough to see the child first of all the Inquisitor's companions, but far enough not to intrude. Yet now he needed an extra pair of hands, she was there, and he found himself grateful as pauldrons, vambraces, sword, shield, and finally breastplate all left his form. Rory didn't give him a moment to reconsider, placing the squirming bundle of blankets and blue eyes that was his own flesh and blood into his hands before he could say a word. He remembered something like this with Rosalie, when he was just a boy, being handed his baby sister and knowing she was related to him, that she was a part of him. She'd had blue eyes then, he recalled, yet now her eyes matched his. Would Alys' eyes darken? Would she shared his hued gaze? But this ... this was different. This was his daughter, his child, the unexpected miracle of life brought out of so much death. The hands that held her were his hands - a warrior's hands, stained with blood that had not always been guilty; hands that shook when the strain became too much; hands that trembled now as he drew little Alys to his chest and held her close for the first time. He felt her breathe against his chest, the fumble of little fingers gripping at the loose edge of his mantle, and something fundamental seemed to crumble inside him. So much fear held deep inside, of a life that would end alone and forgotten even by himself ... yet here he stood, holding the future in his hands, watched over not only by the wife he had never dared to hope for, but also by the friends he still did not believe he deserved. Whiskey-bright eyes rose to look into the freckled storm-gray that was Rory's gaze, soft and understanding and loving. She knew the worst of him, in his own words, his own unthinking actions, and yet still she loved him. He could not think of a better reward for continuing to fight for the world their daughter deserved. Biting down the tears that wanted to spill from his eyes, he leaned close to her, hugging Alys close as his lips brushed Rory's brow. This was home. "Are we allowed to meet the new Rutherford, or are you going to stand there hiding her from us for the rest of eternity?" a warm voice demanded from behind him, and despite himself, Cullen laughed along with Rory as he turned to look at Kaaras. The Qunari Inquisitor had been fascinated by the pregnancy, and was almost over-eager to meet the baby, holding himself stiff in his serious effort not to reach out and grab for her as Cullen showed off his little family. Fade-touched eyes glued themselves to the infant gripping the commander's mantle, all others utterly dismissed from his mind. "She's so tiny," he breathed, his right hand reaching out involuntarily before he drew it back, glancing to the proud parents with a guilty glimmer to his gaze. "Uh ... may I?" Cullen glanced down at Rory as she answered. "The worst she can do is cry at you, so prod away." As Kaaras' hand reached toward the baby, Cullen felt himself bristle a little, an over-protective instinct drawing his daughter closer to his chest before he recalled himself. This was a friend - not just a friend, but a good man, for all that he was seven feet tall with horns. Guilt colored his expression a moment as Kaaras hesitated, the commander relaxing his arm once more as Rory squeezed his free hand. Assured that he really was welcome to introduce himself to the baby, Kaaras' grin emerged, one large finger very gently stroking the little fist Alys flailed in his direction. The tiny fingers opened to wrap about the wide digit at hand, and Cullen found himself staring in utter astonishment as a Qunari warrior he had seen tear through four demons single-handed without breaking a sweat visibly melted in the face of a tiny baby trying to suck his finger. "What a grip!" Kaaras chuckled to them, impressed by the strength exerted on his finger, glancing down at Cassandra as she came close to his side. The Seeker seemed just as enchanted, and perhaps a little envious, though her rare smile was there for all to see. The Qunari Inquisitor lifted his left hand, wriggling his fingers to make the Anchor glow, trying to tease a first smile out of the infant clinging to his hand. Alys' eyes focused on the glow ... but there was no smile. Cullen was shocked to see his solemn daughter, who had seemed so even-tempered until now, suddenly scream, flailing her fists as tears flooded her eyes. Kaaras snatched his left hand away, hiding both behind his back as he looked around wildly. "I didn't touch her!" "I know you didn't," Rory assured him, shaking her head. "Look, she's already calming down." And the baby was calming, her sobs fading now there was no eerie green light in her eyes, rubbing her face with pudgy hands as she nestled into Cullen's grasp once again. The commander stared at her, torn between horror at her over-stated reaction to Kaaras' hand and relief at how quickly she'd recovered from him. What was wrong with the Anchor that made a baby react so violently to it? "It's wrong," a quiet voice said from Rory's other side - Cole, peering around the redhead, his red-rimmed eyes focused on the now quiet baby once more. "It's wrong and it hurts and it shouldn't be there. It won't be there, and that hurts, too." He blinked, frowning. "She doesn't like it when it hurts." "She's hurting?" Cullen's head snapped up, deep concern making his gaze sharper than he had intended. Cole shied back. "Not her," he promised. "She ... she sees it, and she knows it hurts him. The glow and the shimmer ... she cries because he hurts, because ..." He frowned uncertainly. "Because one day it will stop hurting, and that frightens her." Rory's head swung about to look down at her daughter, reaching over to stroke the soft cheek even as she frown in concern of her own. "That makes no sense, Cole," she pointed out, but there was a wariness about her voice that suggested she might share that feeling with the newborn child. "The mark hurts?" Cassandra tilted her head toward Kaaras, who gave her a sheepish smile. "Not so much," he tried to mollify her, but she wasn't having it. She did, however, pull him away from the commander and his wife by the horn before beginning to inform him in no uncertain terms that not telling her when he was in pain was a very bad idea. This gave space for others who were attempting not to seem eager to press forward. Dorian, naturally, did his utmost to ignore the baby, instead moving in to offer Rory a one-armed embrace. Even Cullen was surprised by that; he'd been on the receiving end of a few rants toward the end of the pregnancy that had involved how much she worried about certain of their friends and their inability to offer or accept innocent tactile affection. "You look marvelous, darling," the Tevinter altus informed the new mother as he drew back. "Exhausted, but I'm told babies don't much care who they keep awake at night. Now you have a fine strapping commander to be awake with you, you should improve vastly." Rory eyed him in amusement. "I'm not entirely sure that's a compliment, but thank you. Would you like to meet her?" "Not if she intends to display the capacity of her lungs with everyone," was Dorian's matter-of-fact response, hanging back at her side only to startle as Cole piped up again directly behind him. "Not you, not us," the boy assured him. "The brightness, the lie is what hurts ... looking up, warm eyes, gold hair, seen before through another's eyes. Loving and loved. Mother and father and home. She doesn't see the past in the scars, she sees the man." He beamed, turning his eyes onto Dorian once more. "She will like you. Rory does." "Of course Rory likes me, I am unmatched," Dorian puffed, but there was a slightly nervous look in his eyes as he craned his head to look down at the baby in Cullen's arms. What he said next was lost on Cullen. The commander's eyes had returned to the baby girl in his arms, Cole's words echoing in his mind as others crowded in to say their piece and admire the baby girl born in their absence. Warm eyes, gold hair ... she doesn't see the scars. Though he still did not wholly trust the strange spirit made flesh, he trusted that what Cole said was what was felt in the moment. Which meant the child in his arms, his child, his little girl ... she liked him. Alys didn't see the scars that littered his flesh and soul, nor the guilt that would weigh on his heart for all the years to come. She saw him and knew him for the father he longed to be; her most stalwart protector and most trusted friend, a teacher and mentor, a shoulder to cry on in the years to come, but most of all, a constant source of love and support, no matter her choices as she grew. That was the father he wanted to be, the father he would spend the rest of his life trying to be. "You will always be loved," he promised the babe in his arms, heedless of the ears that could hear him, or the eyes that saw him raise her high to brush his lips to her soft forehead to seal that promise. He couldn't promise her safety or happiness, or even peace, but what he could give her was love, all the days of his life. By the gate, speculative eyes watched the happy little scene, considering the dynamic of the commander and the healer, the Inquisitor and his friends. Something had changed there, something he could not quite put his finger on. Something so small as to barely register and yet ... that change made his hackles rise. "She forgot, but the memories did not die," the spirit spoke near him. "They went away, found a home. Innocence knows what will be, what will come, the plans, the dangers, the lies. She sees the deception with no words to speak it aloud, fears the Dread -" "Enough." One sharp word, and the spirit fell silent, his connection broken to the knowledge that would cause so many problems if it were to become common. The child knew. Yet she was just a child, a babe in arms. No threat to him, nor a thorn to prick his palms when he laid hands upon his orb once more. In years to come, perhaps.But not yet.

#set in darkness #THE END #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #rory allen #cullen rutherford #varric tethras #kaaras adaar #cassandra pentaghast #dorian pavus #cole #solas #epilogue #fluff #dad!cullen #lookit the baby!#also #sinister hints

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shannaraisles · 6 years

Text

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 73/74 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Loved

Light and sound crashed around her, pressing in on her mind, some memories swept away, some replacing those that had gone before. Foreknowledge stolen, left to decay in the Void, as past knowledge asserted itself in its rightful place.

... a child of three, pearlescent pink dress and knickerbockers, copper hair in delicate ringlets, clutches a porcelain-faced doll in her short arms as she waits outside the doors that have been closed for days. Mama is in there, and the new baby, too. She looks up at her elven nurse, who smiles warmly. Now you must be very quiet, little lady, or you'll wake the baby. The child nods, a hopeful smile playing on her sweet face, and the door opens. An impression of long skirts - Mama's maid steps aside - and the child runs into the wide rooms beyond, white shoes flashing, ringlets flying. And there is Mama, sitting up in bed, pale and beautiful and smiling like she always is. Hello, my little darling! Come up and kiss your mama! Little arms throw the doll onto the bed, the little body scrambling up to follow, enfolded into Mama's embrace with hugs and kisses. I missed you, Mama. Are you all better now? Mama's smile is warm, her lips soft against the worried brow. I will be, little darling. Would you like to see your baby brother? The ringlets bounce as the child nods, and Mama gestures to another maid, who brings a cloth-wrapped bundle to the bed. The child rises onto her knees, and looks into the face of her baby brother. He is small and squishy, and his eyes open to look at the excited face looking down at him. His name is Lorcan. Will you look after him with us, little darling? The child nods, enthralled as the baby smacks his lips and falls back to sleep. I will, Mama. She has a baby brother, and everyone is happy ...

... a girl of five, very fetching in her new bonnet, those copper ringlets longer now, clutching her governess' hand as they step out of the Grand Cathedral after the Chantry service. The elven nurse is a thing of the past; her governess is a stern-faced Chantry sister who teaches her letters and stories about Andraste and the Maker. Papa is talking to other men in masks, all silks and satins, bright against the white stone of the royal plaza. Lorcan does not come to the Cathedral yet, he is too little, and Mama is sick. Papa is angry that she is sick, but the little girl worries. She loves her Mama, and her brother. She does not want them to be hurt. Something dark catches her eye - an elven child, almost her age, sits in the shadow of the cathedral, large eyes pleading over an outstretched hand. The little girl reaches toward her, but her governess pulls her back. Do not encourage them. She frowns in confusion, looking up. If the Maker loves us, why doesn't He let the elves live like we do? The governess frowns back at her. Elves have not always loved the Maker. They are not like us, my lady. They must learn. A harsh lesson, for one so young. She looks back at the elven girl even as she is tugged away, offering the only thing she is allowed to give - a smile. The waif-like face is surprised, and then, a tiny flicker of a smile rises in answer before a heavy hand knocks the beggar back. The little girl cries out, shocked by the sight of blood on the thin lips that had shared her smile. Come away, my lady. It is all she deserves. But there is sown a seed of discontent. If Andraste died for all of us, why don't the elves feel her love? ...

... aged seven, and the little girl is sent to Ferelden, to stay with Mama's parents for the summer, because Mama isn't well again, and Papa is getting angry about it. Girl and brother, now toddling happily at her side, like this new sort of place. No one fusses about mud on clothes, or being out in the sunshine all day. Her skin burns and peels, the first spray of freckles alighting on pale skin that, in Orlais, had never seen the sun. Grandma and Grandpa are very busy people, and Uncle Fred is, too, but there are lots of children. Too many children for a little girl who likes the quiet sometimes. She learns where the quiet places are, the pond with the pier becomes her place to hide. Only it isn't her place, not really - it belongs to the boy who is there a lot of the time. He stammers and smiles and nods his head a lot. My name's Cullen. Who're you? He doesn't treat her like a little lady, and she likes it. He teaches her about the fish in the pond, and talks about the templars. I'm going to be like them one day. What are you going to be? She doesn't have an answer, but it doesn't matter. One day is far away, and here and now, she has a friend. The summer wanes, and she goes back to Orlais, not to the big house in the capital, but to the family house in Val Chevin. Mama is all better, but very sad, and Papa is even more angry ...

... two years pass, and the little girl is growing into the little lady she will soon be. She sings and plays music, she still plays with her dolls and with her little brother. But there is a new chaplain in the household, a cross woman who has rules that take away time to play and replace it with time to pray. Singing is not allowed, unless it is the Chant. Being loud earns punishments now, not fond words to be quieter. The Maker is everywhere in the house, and He is not smiling. He is angry and stern, and He does not like children to be seen or heard. If He does not like me, then I do not like Him. The little girl has made her decision, but she doesn't talk about it. Not when everyone is so severe ...

... another year goes by, and the little girl is now ten. Mama is sick again, only this time the girl knows what is wrong. Mama was supposed to have a baby, but the baby died before it got big enough to show. Mama is sad; Papa has gone away. But summer comes, and the girl and her brother are sent to Ferelden again, away from strict rules and stern faces, back to the freedom and warmth of their grandparents and the friends they made three years before. More long days spent under the sun, more teasing and laughter with children who don't care that they are Orlesian and noble. More time to spend with Cullen. You're growing up, he tells her, and so is he. He is taller and stronger than she is, but still friendly enough to share his quiet places. He teases her about being a little lady and marrying an old fat lord; teases and teases until she hits him with the fish they caught together in their pond, and he laughs and surrenders. Maybe when I'm a knight, I could marry you. This makes them laugh more, but there is a yearning there she has not felt before - for a simple life in this easier land, where there are no masks, no stern faces. Where the Maker loves her again, and does not want her to be silenced. The summer wanes, and back she goes, to quiet and rules and a house that is growing as dull as a tomb ...

... three years on, and the world is a dark place. Lorcan lies sickening in his bed, and no one will help him. The girl, now a gangling creature just coming into womanhood, sits by his bed and cries silent tears, begging, pleading, praying to the Maker that loved her in Ferelden to save the little brother she adores. To forgive her for getting him hurt. She promises anything, everything, to be good, to be kind, to be silent, if only her little brother will get well again. But the Maker does not listen, and nor does his Bride. Lorcan is gone, and she is not allowed to grieve for him. Papa says the chaplain is right; that her brother lived only to die, to teach her to take responsibility for her actions, and she hates him. She hates Papa, and she hates Mama, and she despises the chaplain with her cold eyes and cruel cane. The girl rebels. She gives food to the elves, gives her cloak to a pauper, argues long and loud about the wrongs she can see all around her. She does not receive notice or guidance, but only punishments - shut inside, locked away, beaten, starved. The Maker does not love me. Papa does not love me. Mama does not see me. Lorcan loved me, and he is dead, and it is my fault. I am all wrong. But still she tries until, on a bitter night, she sees the chaplain bring an elven girl, not much older than the girl herself, to her Papa's bedchamber. She hears the crying, the sounds of pain, sees the bruises for herself when the elf girl is thrown out into the snow. And the anger is too much. Without care for those she leaves behind, for they show her none, she packs a satchel and sets out into the snow, needing to go anywhere that is not here ...

... a year later, she has found a place where she is accepted in all her anger and zeal, that bitterness turned toward a purpose that pleases her. Soft noble hands become rough with work, with pounding herbs and making medicines; a quick mind finds employment as apprentice to a healer who cares for anyone, whether they pay or not. The Marches are free, and free is what she wants, what she craves. She learns and she cares, and she makes a friend. Blonde hair and laughing green eyes, a ready wit, though not blessed with the quick learning of the girl herself. Mum called me Ria. Works for me. I'm going to call you Rory. So Rory becomes the girl's name, and she likes it, taking the healer's surname for her own as well. He teaches, she learns; Ria teaches, she learns. Life is not nobility and privilege, but hard and brutal, and simple, as she longed for once. She wonders, sometimes, if her Ferelden friend became the templar he so wanted to be, but she has no time for lingering on dreams. There is work to do, always work, and in that work, she finds her peace ...

... the Blight is over, and Denerim lies in ruins. In the alienage, two sisters appear from the hordes of refugees, healers of an age no more than sixteen, offering their help for nothing. The girl is now a young woman, her friendship with Ria more than just friendship. They are family, bound in ways her blood kin never allowed her. They stand together, and Ferelden is their choice. They heal and travel, they learn and mend, they teach and are taught. In Harfoot, an ugly apothecary asks for help, and they give it; he gives them his name and a promise of friendship in years to come. In Highever, they treat the wounded that remain from the violence of an attack that came unexpectedly and still haunts the living lordship. In Honnleath, they pause, and the young woman remembers when the village still stood, when her grandparents still lived, when a boy had offered to marry her when he became a ser. What is it? Ria asks, and the young woman shakes her head with a smile. What might have been, she answers, and they continue on, always together, looking ahead ...

... until the moment comes in ruined Amaranthine, when a face from the past looms from the present, and remembers her. Lady Aurelia? She finishes her work and rises, turning to find him standing there, no longer the boy with a head full of heroes, but a man haunted by things she could never imagine. My name is Rory, she tells him, but smiles at the glimpse of a happy moment in her past the sight of him give her. Hello, Cullen. They do not talk long, for she is needed still, and he has duties to attend, yet the next morning, the Right Hand of the Divine seeks her out, both her and Ria, and offers them a place in something called the Inquisition. Ria agrees without needing to consider it, and the woman she named Rory cannot let her go alone. They travel with Cullen and his people, this burgeoning force that might someday soon be needed for peace, and that former yearning returns. You like him, don't you? Ria teases, and she laughs but does not answer. She does like him, the man he has become, seeing in him the signs of his struggles and the strength he needs to endure them. Yet he is a link to a happier time for her, and she suspects that she is the same for him. Few words are spoken, but they are often sat together on the long journey to Haven ...

... disaster strikes, and Ria is killed. The love of a friend who was more of a sister is gone, ripped away to destroy the fragile peace in the woman's heart. Grief clouds her mind, makes her dream strange dreams, feel prophetic idiocies, yet Cullen is always there. He guides her, without knowing it. She loves him, without saying it. 'Til one day the words are spoken - well, shouted - and she knows, deep in her heart, that she is loved once more. Time passes, and the Inquisition grows. A cousin set on a simpler, happier path; friends gathered and growing closer; a marriage, a child planted in her womb; a return to Orlais and the Game she never learned to play; stolen from love and hope, and rescued by the same; and here she stands, in safety and peace, with a friend at her side and a boy holding her hand, and ...

"-oing? Come away!"

"It's all right, Mother," the boy said cheerfully, sliding his fingers from the healer's hand. "She fits now."

Rory blinked, her head feeling momentarily foggy before her thoughts cleared. She smiled down at Kieran reassuringly, raising her eyes to his mother. "It's fine, Lady Morrigan," she assured the woman in a warm tone.

Morrigan's yellow eyes were troubled as she glanced between her son and the healer. It was clear she thought something untoward had happened, but Rory couldn't think what could be worrying her so. If something odd had happened, wouldn't Cole have mentioned it? Yet the spirit boy stood at her side, hugging her arm and smiling to himself, almost vibrating with something that seemed like utter joy. Rory laughed softly at his beaming smile, turning her eyes back to Morrigan and her son.

"Truly, my lady, there is no harm done," she promised. "Kieran startled me a little, that's all."

"Very well." Morrigan eyed the three of them suspiciously, but seemed to dismiss her initial concern. "'Tis well enough that I found you. Kieran, it is time for bed."

"Oh, but Mother ..."

"No buts," Morrigan interrupted him, her voice fond despite her orders. She held out a hand to the child. "Come, let us allow the healer to find her own bed. You may speak with her tomorrow, if you wish."

Kieran sighed, reluctantly putting his hand into Morrigan's outstretched palm. "Good night, mistress."

"Good night, Kieran," Rory answered, inclining her head to his mother. "Good night, Lady Morrigan."

"Fair eve, Mistress Rutherford."

Mother and son walked away, leaving Rory and Cole to continue on their own way into the main hall. Rory felt a little unsettled, as though something had happened that she couldn't quite lay her finger on. Whatever it was, it couldn't be that important. She trusted that Cole would have kept anything awful from taking place. Speaking of Cole ... She watched her companion as he steered her into the rotunda, through Solas' workspace, and out onto the walkway.

"What are you smiling about?" she asked, unable to keep from smiling in return as he released her arm.

"You are connected," he said happily. "Past and present and future, gathered close, all yours, not hers. No more sadness, no more fear, stillness and silence banished forever. Their words do not hurt you any more. You have him, and he glows inside you, makes your heart full and warm. Loved and loving and welcome. No more secrets to hide from."

That makes no sense, she thought. I never had any secrets I was hiding. But Cole was so happy, it rolled off him in waves. Whatever had sparked this gleeful moment for him, she was glad to be a part of it. Her gaze flickered toward the tower, a new sense of purpose rising in her heart as she squeezed Cole's hand.

"No more secrets," she agreed, more to see him nod than anything. Her own confusion was a footnote to seeing him this pleased about anything. "Are you all right to get back to the tavern alone?"

He nodded once again, his watery eyes bright as he grinned at her. "He's waiting, trying not to watch for the moment when he sees you again," he told her. "When he sees your smile, he is a boy on a riverbank again, and you are a girl with a fish, and everything is as it should be. Dawning bright, like the name left behind, a future that rises up with each kiss."

It was very odd to hear him reading her the way he did everyone else. He'd never done that before. But maybe all it meant was that Cole was finally truly comfortable with her. That was something to smile about. She rubbed a hand over the crown of her belly, glancing up at the darkening sky overhead.

"Time for bed, Cole," she told him fondly. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Bed and sleep and dreams of the Fade," he agreed cheerfully. "Cullen will sleep easier now."

"And that's not cryptic at all." Rory laughed, shaking her head. "Go on, shoo. I have a commander to bully into bed."

She left him there, walking across the stone arch above the courtyard to open the door to the tower. Cullen was standing at his desk, scowling down at his papers, the other two doors already locked for the night. He barely glanced up as she entered, knowing it would be her, his attention focused on the words scratched on rough paper as she locked the last door and turned to look at him.

There he was, her golden lover, tired and tousled and terribly handsome, fulfilling the promise that had been there in the boy he had been. It was hard to believe they had known each other for two summers as children; so much had happened between then and now. Yet without that separation, would they have found what they needed in one another? They had both changed beyond measure, but in each other had found a link to happier times that were worth remembering. And with the child in her womb, they would make more happier memories to balance out the bad, to cling to when the world grew dark around them. She would tell him of her parents' visit, though she doubted he would much care. She was his now, a Rutherford to her bones, living the simple life he had laughingly offered to her as a young boy on the cusp of manhood. He did not need to be "ser" to make her happy. He just needed to be.

She moved over to him, her palm gently turning his face to hers as she kissed the frowning lips she loved so well. That frown softened, gentled, tilted to a smile as he straightened to curl his arms about her gravid waist and hold her close, to breathe her in and let the knowledge that she was there calm the maelstrom of his mind.

"Is everything all right?" he asked her softly, brow to brow in the warm candlelight that enveloped them.

Rory smiled, a smile that belonged only to him, tilting her chin up to kiss the scar that decorated his lip with tender care.

"Everything is fine, love," she promised, nuzzling close as he relaxed into her embrace. "I love you."

He sighed, and the sound wasn't frustration or weariness as it was for others. For her, from him, that sound was contentment, a feeling he had once told her he no longer felt he deserved. Yet here it was, and it belonged to him, enveloped him, with his wife in his arms and their child restless beneath his palm. This was where their long road had brought them, and this was where they would remain.

'Til their souls set in darkness, they would be together, whatever might come.

#set in darkness #multi-chapter fic #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #rory allen #cole #morrigan #kieran #cullen rutherford #memories #making her fit #angst #fluff #only an epilogue left to write

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shannaraisles · 6 years

Text

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 72/74 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Choose

Silence. Soft, cool silence.

It wrapped around her like the most delicate silk, muffling everything but the beat of her own heart. She was falling, but yet not falling; weightless, without momentum, her vision blurred, her voice silenced. On and on she fell, until light became darkness, and all was still.

Rory opened her eyes.

She was ... somewhere. It didn't seem to be anywhere in particular. She was lying on something that smelled like grass, yet had the consistency of laminate tiles. The sky above her seemed too close; the sun shining, but with the eerie flicker she associated with fluorescent lighting. The air felt odd. It wasn't cold. It wasn't hot. But neither could she say the air was comfortable. It seemed almost alive, wrapping about her limbs discernibly, stealing the wet heat of her breath at her lips and absorbing it, as though it were breathing her just as she was breathing it. She pushed herself to sit up, feeling the unfamiliar familiarity of denim wrapped about her legs contrasting with the now more familiar hug of soft linen about her torso. Looking down at herself, she could see why her clothing felt confused. She wore a Thedosian wool tunic over jeans; her feet were bare; her hair left unbraided to tumble over her shoulders as she moved to stand. Worried hands rubbed down over her flat stomach. There was something missing, she just ... she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Movement caught the corner of her eye. She turned, blinking in surprise to see herself looking back at her. And there, over her other self's shoulder, another surprised version of her own face ... and another. Panic flared for a brief moment, before common sense kicked in. She twisted, looking over her own shoulder, and found her answer. Mirrors. I'm standing between two mirrors.

Enormous mirrors, mirrors that stood ten feet tall at least, arched gracefully at the tops, their level lower edge buried in the strangely artificial-but-natural ground at her feet. As her head turned back and forth, she saw herself reflected into infinity, a confusion of Earth and Thedas, modern and primitive, caught at a point between the two. What she had taken for glass or silver was rippling, alive, glowing brighter if she raised a hand toward it while the other mirror grew dark. Magic, then. And this, too, was familiarly unfamiliar. She knew what these magic mirrors were, but ... the words, the knowledge, they wouldn't come. It was on the tip of her tongue, an itch in the back of her mind that she could not scratch.

Turning to her left, she faced the first mirror, inching closer to examine the rippling surface. The glow burst forth, blinding her with the unexpected flare, startling her into shielding her eyes. But slowly the glow faded to something she could dare to look upon. Her reflection was gone.

Instead, the mirror showed something she had never thought she would ever see again. A blonde woman with soft green eyes, her coat a splash of almost offensively bright color in a room that was stark and chilly with no decoration. Ria. There were machines all around her, lights flashing, numbers constantly changing, illuminated as much by the imperceptible flicker of fluorescence above as they were by the warm sunshine pouring through the window. She was looking down at a bed, where another splash of color betrayed the vibrant copper of lank hair spilled out over a white pillow. The person lying there was still, freckles stark against pale skin, mouth and nose covered by a fogged clear mask, one arm attached to a laden drip-stand, one finger bearing a plastic cuff. All these things were familiar enough that Rory could sort of recognize what she was seeing. That's me, she realized as she peered at the still form in the bed. I'm there. But I'm here, too. So is that the real me, or is this the real me? She raised her hand, reaching toward the glowing image of her oldest friend.

"Don't go."

The sudden voice in the cloying silence almost scared her out of her skin. Heart pounding, she yelped, jerking her hand back from the mirror as she spun around, trying to locate the owner of that voice.

"You're frightened."

"Where are you?" she demanded, hugging her arms about herself as the mirrors on either side of her both flared with light. They were not so far away as she had first thought, barely two feet on either side ... but their wonder paled in comparison to a disembodied voice she could not place. "Who are you?"

"You don't remember." An almost disbelieving huff of breath followed. "You always remember me. But here, you don't."

Something changed in the strange atmosphere of this place. The air seemed to move, to solidify in front of her ... and there was the owner of that voice. A skinny boy in strange clothing, his head crowned with a ridiculous hat. He raised his head, showing her pale, watery eyes that brimmed with familiar concern. Her eyes narrowed, not in anger but with curiosity.

"I know you, don't I?" she asked quietly. "You're ... familiar. Who are you?"

"I'm Cole," he told her, his light voice gentle in this odd place they found themselves in. "The boy opened a door, and you went through. You are still there, but here, as well. You feel ... different ... here. The same, but different; sharper, smoother, smothered with fog that makes thoughts bright but hard to follow."

"What boy? What are you talking about?"

He raised a hand toward her, and she flinched back, afraid to risk touching this stranger that was not a stranger in this place that was not a place. Nothing felt right, and yet ... everything seemed safe enough, for now.

"Caught between worlds, between lives," Cole told her, still quiet, still gentle, his hand gesturing to the second mirror. "You have to choose. If you stay here, all of you will fall."

Without thinking, she turned her head toward the second mirror, the one she had neglected until this moment. In answer to her gaze falling upon it, the surface rippled, the glow rising to blind her as the first had done. When the light ceased to harm her eyes, she dared to look again ... and felt her breath leave her body in a rush.

A stone-clad garden; a frozen tableau. A boy with old eyes, a woman reaching forward in distress, this Cole and his silly hat, his hand held fast by ... That's me. And I'm ... Oh, holy hell; bollocking, buggering fuck ... The memories flooded her mind. A snow-covered mountainside; a friend, killed by circumstance; a village, an organization, that embraced her, gave her a place among them; a man's love; death and destruction and hope from the ashes; a marriage and a child planted; an elegant ball; weeks of captivity, only to return home again, safe with ...

"Cullen." Rory's head snapped around to meet Cole's watery eyes. "Cole, what's happening?" she asked, feeling the panic beginning to rise once again. "Where are we, what's going on?"

He seemed relieved that her mind had returned to her, that she remembered him again, reaching out to let her grip his hand.

"The boy opened a door," he told her again. "I followed. We are ... inside, but outside. This isn't the Fade; this isn't your mind. There are no demons, no spirits. This is ... between."

"Between what?"

Cole's red-rimmed eyes met hers. "Between reality and dreams."

Unbidden, her head turned toward the first mirror, to the image of Ria standing beside a hospital bed. A modern world, a convenient Earth, the lifetime she remembered living up until almost a year ago. A place where Ria had survived, where she lived and loved and thrived. Where her heart was still beating, and she still wished for her friend to wake up and rejoin her. Rory's head turned again, this time to the second mirror, to the image of herself and Cole, of Kieran and Morrigan, frozen in Skyhold's garden at the moment the boy had touched her hand and sent her here. A medieval world, a magical Thedas, the life she had built for herself in the last ten months or more. A place where death could strike at any time, where people lived their lives to the fullest. Where Cullen loved her, married her, had made a place for her in his heart.

"How do I know both places?" she heard herself ask, her eyes seeking Cole's as though he might have an answer for her. But it was not her friend who replied.

"Because your soul has lived in both for far too long, girl."

Rory felt her back stiffen. She knew that voice, too. Without needing to look, she knew who had joined them in this in-between place where the Fade did not reach and Earth could not touch. But somehow, she made herself turn around, keeping a firm hold on Cole's hand as she did so, daring to meet the piercing xanthous gaze of Flemeth.

"You fear me, girl?"

Rory swallowed. "I'd be an idiot if I didn't," she admitted aloud.

Flemeth laughed, and the sound was so familiar to Rory's ears. She'd heard that laugh in all three games, that mirthless expression of amusement that belied the power in the woman who wielded it. But this was no game; this was no avatar made of pixels. Flemeth was real. And it was her influence on Kieran that had brought Rory here.

"You have insight into who I am," Flemeth mused, stepping closer to study the pair between the mirrors. "Insight you will lose no matter the choice you make here. Such things are not for the likes of you to know."

"What else will I forget?" Rory heard herself ask, trying not to lean away as Flemeth drew closer.

"That ... depends upon the choice you make here," the ancient woman told her. "Whatever you decide, whichever path you take, you will lose a piece, gain a piece. But here and now, you must choose, girl. What is coming will not be kind to those who straddle worlds."

Rory heard Cole whimper softly behind her, startled to realize that he, too, was afraid. She squeezed his hand gently, swallowing down her own fear once more to ask another question.

"What happens ... what happens to the other me, the one I don't choose?"

Flemeth smiled her mirthful, cruel smile. "Can you not guess? Death is the only gift such an abandonment can give."

Death. Whatever I choose, whichever way I go ... this is the end for the other part of me. Rory's head swung back and forth between the mirrors, from Ria's silent vigil to the scene in the garden. From a modern life, to a medieval one. From the world that created her, to the world that had given her purpose. How was she supposed to choose?

"Pain, quicksilver and ruthless, biting deep, driving tears; grief that will always be there," Cole murmured, clinging to her hand. "On one hand, a grief known; on the other, always there, never named. Yet both the same, not different. Both a loss that can't be ignored."

Again, Rory's head turned, a thickness in her throat preventing her from speaking again. She had to say goodbye. But to who? To Ria, who had saved her from herself, who had sat beside a soundless bed for how many months, wishing and hoping for the closest thing she had to a friend to come back to her? Or to Cullen, who had woken her heart from its guarding slumber, who had loved her and needed her, and shown her how much more there was to him than the flawed warrior? That was what her choice came down to, which love she was going to abandon. And for someone who had not known much love in her life before them, it was a knife to the heart.

"I can't," she burst out, shocked to hear the tears in her voice, to feel them trickling down her face. "You can't make me do this!"

"You must choose," Flemeth insisted fiercely. "Choose or remain here, to be destroyed when the moment comes, and spread the grief of your loss through two worlds. One, or both, will lose you; one, or both, will grieve. Life ends, child. Embrace the choice you are given."

Staying wasn't an option. It was awful enough to contemplate ripping the heart from one of those she loved this deeply, but to do it to both? No. She's right. I have to choose. Her fingers gently released Cole's hand.

"Go home, Cole," she told him, her voice tight with tears. "You can't be here when I do this. I have to make this decision by myself."

"I want to help -"

"This is how you help," she said firmly, feeling the tears drip from her chin, from the end of her nose, knowing he could only feel the shock of that painful goodbye from her and not the decision she was wavering on the edge of making. "Go home. Please."

He hesitated, his face pained beneath the wide brim of his hat, twisting his hands together as he considered her request for a long moment. Then he nodded, reluctance bearing out his own struggle in obeying. "Don't forget."

She watched as he stepped back, as the air seemed to loosen its grip ... as Cole faded from her view, returning to the world he had only just grown accustomed to being a part of. A shuddering breath racked her body for a moment, her arms wrapping tight about her waist as she looked down at her bare feet. Her chest ached with the knowledge of the pain she was about to inflict, grieving for the grief she was about to bestow upon someone who was as much as part of her as she was a part of them. It was a terrible thing to do ... but she had no choice.

She raised her head, drawing in deep, shaking breaths to calm the edge of hysterical sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her. She turned to face the image of one world where she had loved and been loved, where she had made memories that soon would be nothing more than wisps of thought, lost to the powers that straddled worlds. Her eyes focused on the scene before her, drinking it in as her hand smoothed down over the flatness of her stomach, memorizing everything there as though she might be allowed to keep some small part of it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, unable to raise any more sound than that under Flemeth's watchful eyes. "Goodbye."

She stepped backward, into the blazing glow of the other mirror, her eyes fixed on the life she was leaving behind ... until it was no more.

#set in darkness #multi-chapter fic #MGiT #modern girl in thedas #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #rory allen #cole #flemeth #angst #a decision #abstract concepts are REALLY hard to write!

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shannaraisles · 6 years

Text

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 71/74 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

The End?

"On aching branch do blossoms grow, the wind a hallowed breath ..."

Candlelight flickered in the warm breeze off the plateau, illuminating the private little glade just outside Skyhold. The snow was gone as summer advanced, the nights grown warm enough to venture out without a cloak or gloves, and finally, the Inquisitor was making his move.

"... it carries the scent of honeysuckle, sweet as the lover's kiss ..."

All right, so the recitation was a little overdone, but Kaaras was nervous. Who could blame him? He was paying court to a woman who could probably snap his other horn off with one hand if angered enough. But Cassandra didn't look angry. Even from here, she looked ... stunned, surprised. Deeply touched at the effort he had gone to. Rory hoped she was remembering that promise she had made the healer; to at least think about letting the big Qunari love her the way she longed to be loved.

"What's happening?" Josephine hissed in a hoarse whisper.

"She hit him," Varric answered in a low tone.

"What?"

"Gently," Rory corrected the dwarf. "She looks ... quite pleased, really."

The three of them were hiding behind a stand of hawthorn trees, ostensibly gathering elfroot, but actually spying on the romance in progress. They'd all been deeply involved in getting Kaaras and Cassandra to this point - Josephine with gathering the various things he would need; Varric to train him to recite the poem he'd chosen in a way that didn't immediately suggest he didn't understand a word of it; and Rory to keep the nerves from sabotaging the Qunari Inquisitor's romantic aspirations entirely. They felt they'd earned the right to a little spying, just to make sure everything went smoothly.

"... it brings the promise of more tomorrows, of sighs, and whispered bliss ..."

"Is he doing it right?" Josephine whispered again, craning around Rory's back to try and see without being seen.

"Well, he's on one knee now," Varric told her, leaning surprisingly comfortably against the tree trunk. "I never told him to do that."

"No, I did," Josephine told him, her voice thrumming with excitement. "Oh, it's so romantic!"

"Warm and calm, the softness smooths the sharp edges, passion and hope and laughter in her heart."

The unexpected voice made all three of them jump violently, looking around wildly to try and locate Cole. They found him, eventually, sitting in the tree above them, a contented little smile on his face.

"He feels like home to her," he murmured happily. "Strong and protective, like Anthony but better. He chose to love her, and she chooses to love him."

"Love?" Rory felt Josephine melt against her back, heard the ambassador sniffle into her handkerchief. "Oh ... the Lady Seeker loves him."

"Of course she does," Varric grumbled. "She'd have punched him by now if she didn't."

Rory nudged his back, grinning at the look on his face. "Admit it, you were so wrong about this," she teased her dwarven friend.

"Cassandra's made of iron," he protested quietly. "How was I supposed to know she knows how to bend?"

"Not iron," Cole argued in his soft way. "Delicate petals, red as blood and bleeding, wrapped in a fist of steel that protects. His smile opens the fingers, his love heals the wounds. The petals are turning white again."

"... his eyes reflect the heaven's stars, the Maker's light ..."

Josephine's head swung around, snapping back toward the lovers in the glade, her eyes wide above a rounded mouth. That was Cassandra's voice. Together, Rory and Josephine peered around the trees once again, trying to get a good look at what was going on there. Kaaras had given the book to Cassandra, was circling her warily as she read aloud, but there was a softness about both of them that hadn't been there before. Josephine's hand gripped Rory's fingers, squeezing tight as the Antivan woman tried to hold in a squeal of delight at the way Kaaras leaned in close to the Seeker and wasn't rebuffed at all.

"Andraste's knickers ..."

Varric's low chuckle was abruptly cut off as Rory's hand clamped around his mouth, four pairs of eyes glued to the suddenly arresting sight of Lady Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine, throwing her arms around Inquisitor Adaar's neck and dragging him down to the blanket laid out on the ground, all passion and heat and loving warmth. Allowing herself to be a woman in love, and not just a weapon to be wielded.

There was silence for a long moment, then ...

"Why is he tickling her there?" Cole asked curiously. "She likes it, but it doesn't make her laugh. It makes her -"

"Okay!"

Remembering suddenly that being a voyeur to the meat of the encounter was not the plan here, Rory straightened up, pulling Varric backwards and out of sight of the fumbling couple beneath the stars. Josephine was giggling into her hands, absolutely delighted with the result of their combined romantic expertise. Rory reached up and gently tugged on Cole's foot.

"Come down now," she told him. "We're going to give them privacy and never mention that we saw anything that happened out here tonight at all. Understand?"

Her eyes flickered between the spirit boy and the dwarf. Varric made a very creditable attempt to look innocent, despite knowing that she wasn't buying it in the slightest. Cole, on the other hand, just looked confused, as he generally did whenever someone told him not to say something he wanted to share because it was a lovely thing and everyone would be happy to know about it. She felt Josephine sober beside her, and watched as Varric's indecent grin faded under the weight of two feminine glares that promised severe punishment if he made a joke or a story out of Cassandra's passion for Kaaras. He sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Fine," he conceded, his tone gruff but his eyes twinkling. It was obvious that he was just as pleased for the two moons-lit canoodlers as anyone, but he wasn't going to admit it out loud. "Not a word. Back to the tavern?"

"Back to work," Josephine corrected, though she sounded a little reluctant. The three of them turned to head back along the narrow path toward the side gate into the fortress, Rory keeping a firm hold on Cole's hand to keep the boy from straying back toward the sensual cloud of extreme happiness they were leaving behind them. "There is so much to do before the Orlesian party arrives."

"They're nobles, Ruffles," Varric pointed out. "You can charm them in your sleep."

"The Dupuis family are highly respected in Orlais," Josephine worried as she fell into step beside him. "If their report to the Emperor is not entirely positive ..."

Rory let the woman's voice fade as she scowled mildly to herself. Oh, yes. The Orlesian delegation from Val Chevin. In one week, she was going to come face to face with the Thedosian version of her parents, without knowing exactly what had happened to make her apparently Orlesian teenaged self run away from them in the first place. She still hadn't managed to bring herself to talk to Cullen about any of it; each time she tried, her throat closed up, the words wouldn't come. She was terrified of this looming encounter.

What made it worse was that her little support network was going to be severely diminished by the time Lord and Lady Dupuis arrived. Rylen and Evy were already gone, sent on ahead with Hawke and Alistair to prepare the scouting camps and confirm the supply chains for when the Keep in the approach was taken. Kaaras would be heading in that direction in a couple of days, taking Varric, Blackwall, and Solas with him; a second party, consisting of Cassandra, Dorian, Sera, and Cole, would be following a day later; and Bull was mobilizing the Chargers to march out as well. Everyone was expecting the territories in the Western Approach to be a hard won fight to the finish, and that was without even suspecting that a siege against a demon-filled fortress was looming in their near future.

Beside her, Cole squeezed her hand. As he became more human, he seemed to empathize with her more easily, though she was still more silent than anyone else he knew. Well, apart from Solas. The elven apostate - Fen'harel, she reminded herself - had somehow deliberately cut himself off from Cole, while still trying to harangue everyone around him into denying the young man the opportunity to integrate more fully into the physical realm he had found himself in. She could understand Solas' viewpoint, knowing what she did of his ultimate plans, but even knowing that, it seemed cruel to try and force Cole to remain a confused spirit in a physical form, tormented at all times by the otherness of everyone else's pain and confusion. He had enough confusion of his own.

"There was pain when she wrote the words," he said quietly, words for her ears alone. "Hope that brings pain like a wound ripped open, fresh blood where she had thought there was none left to come. So much loss, so many regrets, but hope lives in the beating heart that wants forgiveness."

Rory drew in a slow breath, gently wrapping his arm through hers to pat his hand as they walked in the wake of the ambassador and the storyteller. "I don't understand how you know that, but ... I appreciate that you're trying, Cole," she told him carefully. "It is a difficult situation."

"But you aren't alone," he told her in turn. "He watches you, worries for you, sees the lines on your brow when you're hurting and can't speak. He knows some things but does not say them. He's waiting for you to speak."

She blinked, her brows rising in shocked surprise. It didn't take a genius to guess that he was referring to Cullen, but that meant that Cullen knew a lot more about her than she had thought he did. Back to that old guessing game. How much did Thedosian me tell him before Earth me took up residence in this body? And why isn't he talking to me about it? If he'd just give me an opening, I'm sure I could tell him most of this. Most of it, not all. She was still certain that telling Cullen about being mostly from another world would result in too much pain for either of them to bear and come through whole. For all her desire to be honest, she did not want to destroy what they had together. Losing him, seeing him in pain that she had caused ... just the thought of it was too much to even consider.

"I'll speak," she promised Cole quietly. "Soon. But let me do it, all right? It ... it wouldn't feel right, if you told him before I do."

"I have nothing to tell," Cole informed her in his soft, cryptic way. "You are silence and stillness. I like it, but it frightens me sometimes. You are my ... my friend." His voice seemed to gentle around a smile as he said that, hugging her arm to his skinny chest. "Friends should not be hurting if I can help. But I do not know how to help you."

She smiled at him, wondering just when she had started to think of this strange creature beside her as more of a brother than a friend. He was nothing like Lorcan had been, and yet he seemed to need that sense of connection. Or maybe I'm the one that needs the connection, she mused pensively. I'm looking for things to hold onto in this world. I don't want to leave it.

"Sometimes you can't take the hurt away, or solve the problem causing it," she told him gently. "Part of being a friend is knowing that just being there is enough to make the hurt less painful."

"I can help by just ... being near?" he asked, apparently needing clarification.

"Well, not all the time," Rory assured him, fairly certain Cullen would have an apoplectic rage reaction if Cole took up residence in their bedroom overnight. "But just the act of wanting to help is helpful when people you know and care for are struggling a little. The fact that someone you know and care about has compassion for your struggles is almost more meaningful than having someone solve those struggles for you."

"I don't understand." He frowned beneath the wide brim of his silly hat.

"You don't have to understand," she promised affectionately. "You just have to be you."

She could feel him gearing up to tell her she was making no sense, that to be himself meant solving problems and taking pain away, but the rising complaint was forestalled into silence as they passed through the gate into Skyhold itself, following the poorly-lit passage out and into the cloistered garden. Josephine and Varric were already halfway to the main hall, still discussing the forthcoming visit by high-ranking Orlesians, leaving Cole and Rory to amble easily through the garden itself together, taking an easy pace with the unstated intention of making their way to the tavern. There, Rory would leave Cole in his accustomed place, and take a shortcut through Bull's bedroom to the battlements to join her husband and bully him into going to bed at a decent time for once.

A small boy stepped out into their path, innocent eyes focusing for a moment on Rory's rounded belly before rising to meet her gaze. Kieran. Morrigan's boy was a sturdy ten years old, and if Rory hadn't known his provenance, she might have taken him for any other little boy. Knowing that he bore a portion of an Old God's soul inside him, however ... well, it made her a little wary.

"You're the healer."

She paused, drawing Cole to a halt. "I am. My name is Rory."

"No, it isn't," the little boy told her. "Grandmother says you don't fit here. I can make you fit."

A chill rushed through her, the color draining from her face. Grandmother. Flemeth. Holy mother of fuck, Flemeth. Flemeth knows about me?! How in the name of all that's ... As her thoughts collided in their shocked panic, she gripped Cole's hand tighter, fighting with everything she had not to back away from this small child who shouldn't have frightened her as much as he did. There was nothing threatening about Kieran. He was all curiosity and sweetness, as a child his age should be, and yet she found herself desperately wanting to run away from that matter-of-fact tone that declared he knew far more about her than she truly wanted anyone to know.

Footsteps wrenched her attention from the child before her, to the approach of Morrigan, a witch who saw far more than she ever let on to the people around her. The yellow-eyed witch of the wilds called to her son.

"Kieran ... are you bothering the Lady Healer?"

The little boy shook his head. "No, Mother," he promised, sliding his hand into Rory's frozen fingers. "I'm just showing her the way."

Morrigan's expression went blank for a moment, suddenly creased into lines of extreme panic. "No, don't - Kieran, what are you d-"

But for Rory ... the world went white and cold and silent, and Skyhold was no more.

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shannaraisles · 6 years

Text

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 69 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Visitors

"... writing in the hope that you are the woman my sister believes you to be. If she is correct, then you are Aurelia Dupuis, long thought dead by a mother who knows she did not fight hard enough to keep you. If you can find it in your heart to forgive a fool, I will beg for it when your father and I arrive at your Inquisition's headquarters three weeks' hence. Your hopeful mother, Judith Dupuis."

Rory stared at the letter in dismay. Lord and Lady Dupuis of Val Chevin were coming to Skyhold. It wasn't a distant worry anymore; it was a reality. And knowing the way the post worked in Thedas by now, she could make a pretty accurate guess as to when they would be here.

Two weeks, she thought. I've got two weeks to think of some way to handle this. The easiest way was also the hardest - to hold onto the fact that she didn't know them, didn't remember them. To break the hope Edith Trevelyan had planted in her sister's heart and cause them pain. But she wasn't sure she could do that. This mother, this father ... they weren't coming to Skyhold to show their support for the Inquisition. They were coming to discover if their daughter - a daughter who had run away from them in anger more than a decade before - might still exist; if that daughter might ever be able to forgive them for their mistakes that had driven her away. It would be better for everyone if they kept believing their daughter was dead ...

The baby moved beneath her hand, and she felt that line of thought shudder to a stop. I can't do that to them. I can't do that to my child. They deserved the bonds of family restored in this chaotic world where the worst could happen at any moment. But that meant she would have to talk to Cullen about this Thedosian past of hers, and admit that she remembered virtually nothing of it.

Her eyes rose involuntarily to look across the tower office, to where Cullen was quietly going over the deployment to the Western Approach with Rylen. No one had so much as blinked when the commander had set her up a desk and chair in his own office. Even without their marital relationship, it made sense to keep them working in proximity to one another. He needed her input on the health and well-being of his soldiers; she needed to know where they were going and what they would be facing in order to make certain their healers had adequate supplies for the task at hand. Much as she would rather be in the infirmary, working with her hands and heart, she wasn't stupid enough to put herself and her baby at risk with the heavy side of the work she enjoyed most. She was just going to have to put up with paperwork for the next few months, until she was recovered from the birth.

The tower's renovations had been finished in her absence, a few unexpected little additions insisted upon by Josephine included. The ladder had been replaced with a squared off set of steps that rose from the right of the battlement door and turned sharply at the wall to offer an easier route to the level above. The two windows had been knocked into the inner wall; the roof fixed. Those were what she had been expecting to find when she returned. What she hadn't expected were the thick rugs that covered the floor; the gentle partitioning of one small corner with a low bookcase, behind which was space for a small bed to be added at some point; the hanging brazier that would warm them when the weather turned cold again; the large chest of drawers that held a plethora of cloth nappies and baby clothes, as well as all the other little things necessary for a baby; the rocking crib, carved with griffons in flight, currently bearing a soft little winged nug tucked up beneath the new blankets. No one was admitting to having been involved, but she could see the hands of characters - friends - she knew everywhere in what had become a home. It was truly amazing to note.

Of course, it was going to be a while before everyone was back home. Kaaras had sent word from Crestwood that, while Hawke and Alistair would be dropping into Skyhold briefly on their way to the Approach, he wanted Cassandra and Iron Bull to join him as he headed for the Storm Coast to deal with darkspawn, red templars, and the Qunari's proposed alliance. All the little parts of the story were falling into place, and for once, she wasn't worried about the outcome of that part. Kaaras was a former mercenary himself; his loyalties had been trained to lie with his companions, not a faceless overlord like the Qun. Rory had no doubt that the Chargers would be coming home, and that meant Bull could finally be trusted completely, without reservation. That would please Dorian, too. Neither man was admitting to it, but she was certain there was more between them than an enjoyable tumble every night.

The by-now familiar rumble of the iron gate being raised vibrated through her feet from the stone. As one, the three people in the office glanced toward the gatehouse door, though none of them could possibly see who had arrived from here. Cullen rubbed his neck with a faint wince as he straightened. Rory caught his eye, one brow rising pointedly. He grimaced a reluctant smile in her direction, both of them ignoring Rylen's grin as he glanced between them.

"So I'll take these to the quartermaster and get that started," the Starkhaven captain said aloud as he picked up the sheaf of notes that had accumulated in his discussions with the commander. "We should be ready to move out when the Inquisitor returns."

Cullen nodded. "That is the intention, yes," he agreed. He shifted, rolling his shoulder as Rylen stepped smartly out through the door to the rotunda.

"Cullen ..." Rory began, but he was ahead of her.

"I know, I know," he said, a little more irritable than usual, but that was to be expected when he'd been hunched over his desk with Rylen for the entire morning. "A little air would do us both some good. I'm not the only one who has been working too hard."

She flushed, biting down on her defensive smile as he moved over to take her hand. The letter was hastily tucked beneath other papers on her desk as she allowed him to guide her onto her feet, needing the pause he offered as the blood drained from her head. These postural drops were getting more and more frequent, but apparently that was completely normal. She just had to take her time when she was rising to her feet, or she was going to faint. Not a good look for the senior healer of the Inquisition.

"I should rub your shoulders tonight," she told her husband, knowing perfectly well he was waiting until the color returned to her face. "You're getting stiff again."

He paused, one hand absently resting on the wide curve of her belly as the baby pushed at his palm. "And how will that help your back?" he pointed out. "You may be observant enough to spot my headaches at a hundred paces, but you're also groaning when you stand from sitting or lying these days, sweeting. Our little one in here is heavier than they seem."

"And only going to get heavier," she countered with a vague smile. "All right, I'll make a deal with you, commander. You let me rub your neck and shoulders, and you can rub my back and feet. Is that acceptable to you?"

He chuckled softly, bending to kiss her temple with gentle lips. "As a start, yes. Shall we go and see who has arrived?"

"Oh, yes, let's go and gawp at the newcomers," she agreed. Let's pretend you didn't notice me scowling at my mail.

Together, they slipped out of the door that lead to the rotunda walkway, pausing to look down at the courtyard below and see just who it was that had arrived. Rory felt her face light up in a bright smile as her eyes spied Garrett Hawke, staff resting over his shoulder, one elbow resting with familiar comfort on Fenris' shoulder. She heard Merrill before she saw the elven mage, the squeal that announced they'd been spied out from below and drew her eyes to the effervescent bundle of sweetness that was the former First, bouncing up and down and waving her arms to get their attention. But even as she waved, she felt Cullen stiffen at her back.

"What is it?"

Twisting to look up at her husband, she frowned in surprise to see his face a little paler than usual. A knot had settled between his brows - very small, but a very clear sign of unexpected tension. What has he seen down there that's got him riled up? Cullen cleared his throat, making a visible effort to relax his stiffness, and nodded to someone below. Rory turned to look down, finding herself looking at a Grey Warden nodding back to the commander. Blonde hair, handsome, sword and shield ... The penny dropped.

"Andraste's knickers, that's Alistair Theirin!" she squealed, and abruptly went bright red as the man himself grinned. "He heard me. Oh, holy hell, kill me now ..."

Beet-red, she closed her eyes, expecting to hear Cullen laugh at any moment. But the laugh didn't come, Still a little embarrassed that she'd fangirled out loud, she opened her eyes to tilt her head toward her husband. His frown was deeper now, beautiful amber-lit eyes glancing between her and Alistair below them with what might almost have been resigned suspicion.

"What's wrong?" she asked, prodding his arm to get his attention back to her. "You look like someone kicked your mabari."

It was rather sweet, really, the effort he made to school his expression and try to hide the obvious concern now inhabiting his mind. The frown was swept clean; he forced a brighter look onto his face, even managing a smile. Ignoring her now suspicious look, he reached to lay a hand at her back, turning her toward the rotunda with a glance over his shoulder. Almost as though he wants someone to see that we're ... Oh. My. Gods. Cullen Rutherford is having a jealous moment.

"Nothing is wrong," he attempted to assure her. "Shall we go down and meet them? It seems you are a little excited by the prospect of meeting one of the heroes of Ferelden."

Uh-huh, she thought to herself as he ushered her inside and through the rotunda. You're trying too hard, love. He might well be Alistair, but it's your world I'll be attempting to rock tonight. She couldn't say that out loud where others could hear, though; Cullen didn't really appreciate being reassured in those terms for an audience. And she did want to meet Alistair. Who wouldn't? He was her first Dragon Age love interest, and he got so much yummier to look at in Inquisition. And he was here!

The main hall was slightly emptier than usual as they passed into the wide space. No Varric at the fireplace, fewer Orlesian nobles lingering in the warmth. The nobles were actually crowded around the doorway, no doubt eager to catch a glimpse of the Champion of Kirkwall, and maybe even Warden Alistair. Josephine was deep in conversation with a dwarf near her own office door.

Rory did a double-take - the dwarf was familiar, somehow. Black hair, pale skin, tattoo over her right eye; but it was the armor that caught her attention, and the daggers on her back. Now where do I know you from, she wondered. A faint flicker in the dwarf's smile caught her attention, and suddenly she knew. The clearing outside Haven, the man who had wanted to rape her ... the dwarves who had saved her life by taking his. Well, well, Malika Cadash as I live and breathe. All four potentials accounted for, alive and well and going about their daily.

Movement around the door was changing, the nobles at the back stumbling over each other to get out of the way as the towering height of Garrett Hawke made a silhouette against the sunlight. There was no need to guess who was with him - they could hear two of them from here.

"You do know there are better ways of making a path than shoving, right, Hawke?"

"He has to shove, Varric, I want to see the - ooooh, Rory!"

The shove parted, and Merrill came barrelling into view, skipping delightedly across the floor to plant both hands on Rory's bump in absolute delight. Behind her, Garrett was grinning at something Fenris murmured to him, glancing back to make sure the fifth member of their small company was present as Varric threw his pack underneath his accustomed table and sank into a chair.

"Dragons," the dwarven storyteller muttered. "Always damned dragons."

"You're so big!" Merrill was busy exclaiming. "And round, and - oh! It moved! Hawke, you have to feel the baby move!"

"Perhaps you could greet the woman carrying the baby before you start demanding everyone touches her," Fenris suggested, laying his own pack on the table by Varric.

"That would be the polite thing to do, vhenan," Garrett pointed out with a warm smile, offering his hand to Cullen in hello. The two men were still wary of one another, but they had apparently decided to bury the hatchet during Hawke's last visit to Skyhold.

"Am I being rude?" Merrill's big eyes turned back to Rory, filled with worried apology as she snatched her hands back. "I'm so sorry, I didn't want to be rude. Is it rude to touch humans without asking?"

Rory couldn't help smiling. Being mad at Merrill was about as close to kicking a puppy as you could get. "It's always best to ask first," she told the elven woman. "But of course you can touch the bump. It's a lot bigger than it was."

"But that's a good thing," Merrill insisted, palms already back on the moving surface. "Big babies are healthy babies. Only you don't want them too big, or they don't come out right. Do you have a midwife? I can deliver babies, you know. I don't know much about human babies, but they don't have horns or anything, do they?"

Rory bit her lip around her smile as she heard Garrett chuckle behind the little elf in front of her. "No, they're just slightly bigger than elf babies," she promised Merrill cheerfully. "I thought you were going to the Western Approach with Hawke, though?"

"Oh, he won't let me." Merrill snorted, shaking her head. "Fenris can go, but not me."

"Because you're a mage," Fenris pointed out a little irritably.

"That doesn't mean I'm useless!" the little elven woman snapped back. "Hawke's going."

"And if I had a choice, I wouldn't be," Garrett said placatingly. "But I have to do this, Merrill. You know that."

"I think if anyone had a choice, they'd avoid what's happening in the Approach," a new voice offered.

Well, new to anyone who hadn't heard it before. Rory's inner fangirl did a triple back-flip with a perfect dismount from her happy place as the first syllables dropped into place. She knew that voice. That voice had told her he loved her so many times; had drawn her out from one of the darker periods of her life just by being so wonderful. She felt Cullen's hand touch her back again as Alistair Theirin stepped close to them, tilting her head back to look up at the first Grey Warden she'd ever developed a knicker-tingling crush on.

He wasn't smiling, but there was a familiar sense of being pleased with what he found that radiated from his handsome face as he looked to everyone in the odd little tableau they presented. Cullen cleared his throat.

"Alistair." He greeted the man with a nod. "Welcome to Skyhold."

"Cullen." Alistair sounded surprised, but impressed, to see a familiar face that he had not been expecting. "It's good to see you. No longer caging mages, I see."

Cullen flinched imperceptibly, and Rory suddenly remembered the last time Alistair and Cullen had seen one another. Ten years ago, when the Hero of Ferelden liberated Kinloch Hold. No wonder he's so tense.

"No, I ... that is not my function any longer," the commander managed quietly, his fingers flexing against Rory's back. "You will be joining us in the war room, I take it? We will need your assessment of the situation."

Alistair nodded, his expression solemn, but his words definitely teasing. "At last! The wonders of my unsurpassed mind are needed for the delectation of the great and powerful!"

Rory snorted with laughter, glancing up to find Cullen suppressing the urge to roll his eyes and sigh. Oh yeah, headcanon! They pretty much went to school together! And apparently drove each other up the wall, but that was beside the point here.

"I'll have someone find you a place to sleep, and see about getting you something to eat," was what Cullen eventually came out with. "Are you well? Do you need to see a healer?"

Alistair shook his head vehemently, but Garrett got there first. "He's got a gash on the back of his right shoulder that smells awful."

"I can take a look at that, if you want it. That is, need it. I do ... cuts."

It wasn't until she realized both Alistair and Cullen were looking directly at her that Rory registered that she'd spoken at all. Bloody inner fangirl overriding my mouth. Alistair was looking her over with a half-grin, no doubt linking her up with the squeal from the courtyard; Cullen, on the other hand ... He looked conflicted. Yes, she was the healer, and yes, she was a good healer, but he seemed very reluctant to volunteer her services to the Grey Warden. Really? she thought. Does Alistair really make you that defensive?

"And you are?" Alistair asked, glancing to Cullen.

Before Rory could open her mouth, the commander had wrapped his arm about her waist, pulled her close to his side, and spoken. "Warden Alistair, may I introduce my wife, Rory Rutherford, senior healer to the Inquisition?"

To his credit, Alistair didn't blink, or looked openly surprised. His expression creased into what seemed to be a truly delighted smile. "It is a true pleasure to meet you, Mistress Rutherford," he said, his voice unexpectedly warm as he bowed to her. "And congratulations, Cullen - both on your marriage, and your child. You, of all people, deserve a happy ending."

Rory felt Cullen relax, recognizing the hesitation before he spoke as a sign that the reaction to his somewhat possessive introduction was not what he had expected. "Thank you, Alistair. Rory ... should you look at the injury now, or later?"

A little surprised to be asked, but appreciating it, nonetheless, Rory relaxed with her husband. So ... insecure, not jealous. I can fix that. I think. "When you have a moment, Warden Alistair, I will look at your injury." She nodded along with Cullen's assessment. "If it is infected, as Hawke seems to think, it will need a few days of tending to heal appropriately."

Alistair grimaced, unconsciously rolling the offended shoulder with a wince. "Then it would appear I am here for a few days," he admitted. "Shall I seek you out when I am prepared, mistress?"

"That would probably be best," Rory agreed, leaning absently into Cullen's side. the fangirl seemed to have decided to lurk for the time being, shoved out of the way by the more watchful grown-ass woman who could see potential for angry words a mile off. It didn't stop her from smiling broadly as she added, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Warden Alistair."

"As it is to meet you, Mistress Rutherford." Alistair inclined his head to her. "I shall have to tell you all about the teenaged exploits of your Chantry boy here."

She laughed, glancing up at her husband to find his expression frozen in a vague grimace of a wary smile. She knew very little about Cullen's teenaged years; Alistair, apparently, knew lots. And I have an excuse to get him half-naked! Her smile deepened as she looked between them.

"Oh, I look forward to it. Until later, Warden Alistair."

The inner fangirl squealed happily. This is going to be awesome!

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shannaraisles · 7 years

Text

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 64 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

What Lies Beneath

"You must eat, Mistress Rory. Think of your child."

Rory snarled. With one jerky motion, she flicked the bowl out of Maddox's hands, watching as the contents sprayed across the iron bars that separated her from him.

"I am not eating anything in this place," she growled, furious, hungry, and increasingly desperate. "Everything is tainted! I would rather my baby starve and die in the womb than infect them with red lyrium!"

"You will die, too," Maddox pointed out calmly, beef gravy dripping off his chin.

"Good!" she snapped back, aware it wasn't the best comeback. But clever words meant nothing to Maddox. The meaning was the same, even if the delivery wasn't eloquent. "Stop trying to poison me, then."

"I have been working closely with the red lyrium for several years," he offered in that infuriatingly placid manner of his. "I show no signs of the infection you claim."

"You're Tranquil," she pointed out. "I don't know how or why, but lyrium - any lyrium - doesn't affect you the way it does me. For the last time, piss off and let me starve in peace!"

"There is no logic to your defiance, mistress," the Tranquil mage reminded her. "Surely, it is more logical to live than to die."

Rory snorted derisively. "Oh, really? You think I want to be like those monsters on guard out there?" she demanded, gesturing toward the steps down into this holding place. "No mind of their own, only pain and the horrible lyrium song in their heads?"

"It is life, nonetheless."

"But not living," she snarled. "Run along and play nice for your darkspawn friend and his pet templar, there's a good boy."

She turned her back on him, arms hugged tight around herself, ashamed of how aggressive she was being with him. For a long moment, she was aware of those calm eyes watching her; then she heard his footsteps trailing away. This was a nightmare.

She was in the Shrine of Dumat, held below in the area you were only allowed to explore if you sided with the templars in the game. She'd never noticed cells down here the one time she'd managed to play it through that way, but evidently they existed - wide rooms that were barred along one wall, offering her a lovely view of the terrors and red templars that patrolled the area in malevolent silence. Above, others patrolled that way, too, the bustling quiet of a place made to be the center of operations for a war few out there were prepared to admit was being waged. She'd heard Samson's voice often since she'd been locked in here a day and half ago, shouting his orders across the wide space above. She'd even heard Corypheus once, the sound of that voice transmitted via a crystal sending a chill to her bones. She was hungry, weary, and terrified - not a good combination to keep her temper from flaring.

The corners of her wide cell were choked with red lyrium, great glowing shards of crystal that thrust from the stone, making a wide space far narrower than she was entirely happy with. To keep a reasonable distance from the infected mineral, she was obliged to spend her time pressed against the iron bars of the cell, directly until the eyes of terrors and templars, vulnerable to the claws that might choose to swipe at her at any moment. But what choice did she have? To deepen her risk of infection from the red lyrium by staying closer to it than she had to, or to invite a malicious attack from the terrors that patrolled by? Bleeding out was, at least, a kinder death than being taken over by the Blighted crystal.

Rory rested her forehead on the cool metal of the bars, letting out a low sigh. Her stomach was gnawing, but she didn't dare eat. Her throat was dry, but she didn't dare drink. She'd been in here for just over a day, and the insistent song of the lyrium was wearing on her nerves. It wanted her to give in; to go over to it, to let it weasel its way into her blood so it could make a home in her body and take her over. She would not let that happen. Cullen was out there, she knew it; Cullen and Kaaras, and everyone else who had decided to come along. She just had to be strong a little while longer; just had to resist that siren song a little ...

Cullen. Holy fuck, he's going to walk right into this. Horror trickled down her spine in icy waves. He'd been doing so well with his withdrawal these last few months. The nightmares were always a problem, especially when he was under stress, but there had been fewer instances of those terrible debilitating headaches, less need of a deep massage to convince his body to relax so he could sleep. But here, surrounded by this evil crystal ... it didn't bear thinking about. He was already going to be wound tightly. Would he be able to think, to breathe, all the while surrounded by this aching, persistent song that was abhorrently unnatural?

A sudden bustle from the open hall above caught her attention. She tilted her head up, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening. She could hear shouting - not orders, not obedience, but panic, running the length of the Shrine. It didn't take much to guess what had caused it. The Inquisition had been sighted. There wasn't much made of it in the game, but if she had to make a guess, she'd say that there were at least two platoons of soldiers and scouts converging on Samson's headquarters. At least a hundred men and women, elves, humans, dwarves, closing in on this place that had been deemed impossible to find, and at their head, the Inquisitor and the Commander. More than enough to cause the chaos she could hear above her.

Another voice snapped something, closer to her, and the templars patrolling the cells hurried to obey, abandoning their post to the tender mercies of the terrors in their midst in answer to the summons that came to them. Rory flinched back from the bars as cold, demonic eyes came to rest on her. She was the only living being left within their range; too much temptation, even when weighed against the spells used to bind them. Spindly limbs swiped toward her, easily reaching through the bars, and despite herself, she lurched back out of range, yelping when she felt her sleeve tear on the sharp jut of the red lyrium. Just her sleeve, thank gods, but that was too close. The snarling ugliness of hungry faces pressed against the bars in front of her as she backed carefully away, wincing at the intrusive crescendo of lyrium song all around her. She closed her eyes, raising her hands to cover her ears ...

Nothing broke through the bars. Nothing strained to reach her. She risked opening one eye, only to find both terrors lying in a broken heap, the iron bars a little curved but unbroken.

"This is a sad place, filled with old pain. People spoke here, and something listened, until it didn't."

Cole. "Cole?"

Rory concentrated, forcing her mind away from the singing crystal, narrowing her eyes as she tried to focus on where she thought the familiar voice had come from. The barred door swung open, and there he was, visible to her eyes, choosing to let her see him. The brim of his big hat rose to reveal the pale, red-rimmed eyes she had come to know very well indeed.

"The demons see, but the templars don't," he told her in his cryptic way, leaving her to fill in the blanks. "It's harder to hide now." He offered her his hand. "Come away from the song. It's made from people."

She didn't need telling twice, lurching hurriedly away from the glowing clusters that pressed in around her to take the clammy hand that he reached out to her. "What happens now?" she asked, tense and frightened.

She could still hear the rushing of feet up above, the sound of voices ordering movement. Samson was running, just as he did in the game, and those men up there ... they would stay to ensure that he was not caught. Was she glad not to have met Cullen's mirror image in this world? She wasn't sure.

"Aching and hating, lies upon lies to make the pain mean something," Cole murmured as he pulled her from the cell, hurrying to the chamber that stood between the two stairwells that lead upward. He pulled her inside, peering out to listen for the sound of anyone approaching. "He thinks he is right, knows Corypheus is wrong. But he still does what he is told."

Rory's hand closed gently over the spirit boy's upper arm. "Samson is not innocent, but he's not wholly guilty, either," she told him quietly. "The Chantry and the Order drove him to this."

"They took away the song, gave back the pain," Cole agreed, but confusion furrowed his brow as he looked at her. "Cullen doesn't lie to make the pain go away. He is quiet, behind the noise. The little bottle makes him shake, but he tests the chains. He is angry, afraid. He wants to be here, but he does not know how to hide. Find her, make her safe, tell her I am coming for her."

Just hearing him say those words, knowing they came from Cullen, was enough to lend a little strength behind her terror. Her hand tightened on Cole's fingers as she nodded. "Two out of three isn't bad," she said softly.

The boy's expression flickered in confusion, unable to read her as he did everyone else, frustrated by the quietness that clung to her, concealing what she knew. "I do not like your silence now," he told her. "There is darkness behind it. What can't I see?"

Fire. But she couldn't tell him, not now. Cole was not capable of keeping his mouth shut; if even a hint of her knowing what Maddox was about to do to this place came out ... No. You can't risk it, Rory. He'll find out soon enough.

"The red general goes, but others stay," Cole went on, turning his gaze from hers when she refused to tell him what she was hiding. "The other silent one, the red templars, the demons and terrors ... Go. We will fight them, keep them here. They will not follow. We will ..." He trailed off, shock reverberating through his slender form. "We should not stay here."

"Where can we go?" she asked, knowing he must have caught some hint of what was planned.

"Come to the inner sanctum, Mistress Rory," a placid voice said, just outside the door to this chamber. "I would not burn you alive by choice. Nor your friend."

Cole's shock was palpable. Maddox should not have been able to perceive him, but then ... Maddox was no longer connected to the Fade. The spirit tricks that kept others from noticing Cole's presence would not work on the Tranquil mage. Rory squeezed his hand gently. As alarming as the Tranquil was, she believed him when he said he didn't want to harm her.

"It's all right," she promised the boy at her side, hoping she was right about that. "Come on."

She stepped out of their hiding place, Cole's hand wrapped in hers. Maddox was standing in the stairwell, his arms loaded with explosive potions. He offered her his well-meaning smile.

"Come to me, if you please, mistress," he suggested. "There is work I must do before the Knight-Captain arrives."

Rory's gaze sharpened as she looked at the Tranquil. She knew what he meant by work - the firing of the shrine, for one; and his own poisoning. Question was, had he already taken care of that second one? Could she change his fate here? His eyes were just a little glazed, his face covered with a sheen of sweat, but that could be anxiety over what was coming. Then she noticed the tiniest trace of something dark at the corner of his mouth, and her heart sank. He'd already taken the Blightcap essence. Maddox was already dying.

She felt Cole tense beside her, shaking her head at him. "There's no point," she told the boy. "He's a dead man walking, Cole."

"Already dead inside, no light to touch, no dreams to walk, no passion for what once was loved," was Cole's somewhat predictable answer.

"No, I mean he's actually dying," Rory clarified for him. "He's taken poison."

Cole blinked, looking at Maddox thoughtfully. "Oh."

Maddox's placid, unnerving smile never wavered. "Indeed, Mistress Rory, you are observant," he said in his calm way, moving to lob those explosive potions into the cells. Flames erupted where they fell in destructive arcs, reaching out to burn anything within reach. As the heat intensified, Rory staggered - too tired, too hungry, too everything, to handle the imminent suggestion of death by burning on top of everything else. Without thinking, Cole wrapped his thin arm about her back, his hand pressed to the side of her belly ... and the world around her faded.

Soft sheets around a still body. Dry mouth, parched lips, something unyielding inside her throat, breathing for her. Forgotten echoes of pain in muscles unmoving. The steady blip of an electronic heartbeat in her ears; acrid smell of artificial disinfectant itching at her nose. A warm hand wrapped inside her cold fingers; a familiar voice speaking as though from some distance untouchable.

"... longest sleep you've ever had. You couldn't even get four hours before, now you've been asleep for five months? All-time personal best."

Ria. She wants to smile. She hasn't heard that voice for far too long. She sounds ... good. Healthy. Alive. Cold fingers want to twitch, to move, to squeeze that warm hand and promise to always be here.

"I wish you were here. Well, properly here. I know you're here, here, but you're not here, you know? Rambling again. Jay's taking me to look at rings later today. What do you think, am I a single solitaire kind of girl, or a crazy chakra-loving demon from the lowest depths of Pandemonium? I'm leaning toward chakra-loving demon, myself."

That sounds right. Five months is a long time to be without the only sister she's known. But life has moved on. Jay proposed. She's looking for rings. Forcing willpower down her arms, into her fingers, and finally they move. The merest twitch, the barest motion, just enough to say ... I'm here.

"Oh my fucking god, did you ...? You did, you - Hello! Hello, someone? She moved, she squeezed my hand! Do it again, Ror, I know you can."

More force, more will, and another finger twitches, encouraged by the delighted crow of laughter from her side. She can't smile. She can't move more than a single finger. She shouldn't be here.

"Rory?"

"Come on, little red, don't play dead."

"She went away, into the darkness and silence. Now she is coming back."

"Just move your fingers again. C'mon, Ror, I know you can hear me. Come home."

"Sweeting, come back to me. Please. Come home."

Home. One voice fades as others press in around her. The stillness leaves her form; the artificial scents replaced with others, more real, more present. Smoke and ash and soot; oakmoss and elfroot; oiled metal, musky leather, sweat she knows as intimately as her own. This is home, too.

Rory coughed as she came back to herself, her dry throat rebelling against the coiling smoke that swirled through the oppressive heat all around her. Her eyes opened, watering in the unpleasant atmosphere of the burning shrine ... and there he was, gold-haired, whiskey-eyed, tousled and anxious and all for her.

"Cullen," she whispered, and the anxiety on his fractious face shattered into relief, lips curving in a warm smile that said so much more than words might ever manage.

Other faces pressed in around his - Kaaras, Cole, Cassandra; Dorian, Bull, Varric; even Vivienne's distinctive headdress was visible behind them. So many of them, trapped by flame and red lyrium, here for her, to save her from the fate Samson had lost his chance to lay upon her. Warm lips kissed her brow, drawing her eyes back to her husband, her lion, her anchor to this world

"I'm here," Cullen promised, gathering her up and into the cradle of his arms. "You are never going anywhere without me again."

#set in darkness #multi-chapter fic #MGiT #modern girl in thedas #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #rory allen #maddox #cole #shrine of dumat #ria #iron bull #companions #red lyrium #mystical whose-y-whatsits

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shannaraisles · 7 years

Text

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 60 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: None Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

A Split Second Decision

Orlesians, it seemed, were hopeless romantics. Despite the plethora of less than complimentary comments Rory had overheard in the last few hours, suddenly the lords and ladies of the court were falling over themselves to be sweet and pleasant to her. She had a feeling that change of tune had everything to do with the fact that Cullen had claimed her from Granthis at the end of their dance, and had yet to let go, his arm wrapped about her back as they faced his gaggle of breathless hangers-on.

"Madame Rutherford, you are a vision," one of the barons was saying to her. His attempt to sidle closer a moment ago had resulted in Cullen's hand tightening on her hip, a subtle sign that overtures of more than friendship were not going to be accepted with grace. "Such confidence to throw off the dictates of fashion. My wife has been admiring your gown all evening."

"Indeed, madame, it is a beautiful creation," the baron's wife added. She was on the other side of Cullen, and all hands in the commander's own words. "Who created for you? I do hope she kept the design."

Rory tried not to laugh at this sudden interest in her. She'd known Cullen was very popular among the Orlesian nobility, but she genuinely hadn't expected him to use her as a sort of human shield at the first opportunity. Since he'd pulled her to his accustomed corner of the ballroom, he hadn't had to say a word - his admirers were focusing on her in some strange attempt to win his favor by being pleasant to his wife.

"Madame De Fer's preferred seamstress, Madame Francoise, made this gown," she told the baroness with a smile that was only just short of being a grin. She could play at being a vacuous primp for a while. "Her technique is just divine, my lady, and so comfortable! Why, I even have pockets for my precious things!"

She felt Cullen swallow down the urge to snort with laughter, the familiar tension in his chest rumbling against her arm as he watched the little group suddenly separate into fascinated women, and bored men. None of the lords had a hope of following the conversation now taking place, as Rory did her best to praise Francoise to the skies while sounding as empty-headed as possible. With the Orlesian ladies sighing excitedly, discussing their own hopes to commission Francoise for their next events, he leaned down to murmur against her ear.

"Laying it on a little thick, aren't you?"

She tilted her head back, meeting his gaze from behind her mask with innocent mischief. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she informed her husband sweetly, watching as he manfully forced himself not to smile openly at her playful devilry. "Should I invite the gentlemen back to fondle your spectacular backside again?"

Cullen blanched, his eyes going wide for a brief moment. "How did you know ... Never mind." He shook his head, glancing at their small horde of admirers. "Act faint," he murmured against her ear, both of them knowing that it looked to those around them as though he was whispering sweet nothings to her.

The order might have been a surprise, but how else could they have a reasonable conversation in this ridiculous place? Privacy was hard to come by in the Imperial Court. Rory wasn't entirely certain she could sell faintness, but she gave it a good go, letting her knees buckle a little as her hand groped for his.

"Madame!" A marquis on the outskirts of the group was the first to notice, pushing forward to take her hand as Cullen schooled his expression into one of concern, his arm wrapping about her waist to ostensibly hold her up. "Are you unwell?"

She shook her head, offering a brave little smile for his concern. "A little faint," she told the nobleman. "It seems very warm in here."

"Perhaps some fresh air will help," Cullen announced, more for the benefit of their admirers than anything else. "Come out onto the balcony a while. Thank you, my lord. Do excuse us."

With skillful charm, he managed to detach his wife from the worried marquis' grip and usher her out onto the nearest balcony, breathing a sigh of relief when no one tried to follow. Rory tried not to laugh at the instant relief on his face.

"Maker's breath, they won't leave me alone," he complained impatiently. "Congratulations on our marriage combined with snide suggestions that an Orlesian mistress would suit me better than a Ferelden wife. Male or female."

"Not tempted, then?" she teased, earning herself a dark look from her husband.

"You are more than temptation enough for me, sweeting," he informed her in a firm tone, turning his body to hide the gentle touch of his hand to the little swell of their child, hidden beneath her flouncing skirts. "You seem to have them wrapped about your finger well enough. Have you heard anything of note?"

Rory shook her head. "Nothing but gossip regarding themselves," she admitted. "I've passed most of it on to Leliana; she seems to think she can make use of it. They're very derogatory about Kaaras. It's difficult not to leap to his defense, but everyone here thinks I don't speak Orlesian."

"Which was the point of the exercise," he agreed reluctantly. "I have tried to change their minds about him, but their fixation on ... well, my personal preferences ... does not allow for much in the way of political discourse."

She bit her lip, utterly failing to hide her smile. "You're not enjoying all the attention, love?"

He snorted derisively. "Hardly." Leaning beside her against the stone balustrade, he let his lips brush her ear, his tone lowering to something far less than appropriate for such a public place. "Yours is the only attention worth having."

She shivered at the promise in his tone, her fingers curling into his hand to grip tightly as his unspoken desire brought a bloom of heat to her cheeks. The inner fangirl was squealing again, absolutely delighted by a piece of game dialogue recreated with all new nuances just for her.

"You are so beautiful," Cullen whispered to her, the fingertips of his free hand tracing over her shoulder, along the dipped neckline of her gown. "A wildflower among roses. I have never felt more privileged than when you entered the ballroom and heads turned to admire you, knowing you are mine."

"Cullen," she breathed, uncertain if she was pleading for him to stop or to go on.

Those who glanced their way from the ballroom would see only the commander and his wife, standing side by side, speaking quietly together in the fresher night air. They couldn't hear the low longing in his voice as he caressed her senses with words alone; couldn't feel the way she thrilled to the possessive craving in the tangle of his fingers about her own, the heady darkening of whiskey-warm eyes that wanted to see her melt at his command. He wouldn't kiss her, not where these puffed-up idiots could see and take it for their own entertainment, but he could tease her with soft promises of the night to come, when their business here was over and they were free to return to Val Royeaux.

The sound of a throat quietly clearing behind them drew them apart to turn, finding Blackwall standing awkwardly in the doorway to the ballroom, trying to look as though he wasn't interrupting what he knew was a private moment.

"What is it?" Cullen asked, the longing, the promise, gone from his voice in an instant. How does he do that?

Blackwall let his dark eyes touch them regretfully. "Solas is asking for a healer's help," he said quietly, moving to join them so he would not be overheard. "Dorian's wrist needs setting before he can heal it."

"There was fighting in the servants' wing?" Cullen asked, releasing Rory as she turned toward the false Warden.

"Aye, but we came through it," the bearded man nodded. "Kaaras is dancing with the Grand Duchess. Think Leliana might want you, commander."

"Of course." Cullen nodded, glancing down at his wife briefly. Things seemed to be coming to a head. He drew her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently. "Bring her back to the ballroom when she's done," he told Blackwall firmly. "We'll want you all there in case of ... incident."

"Right you are." Blackwall nodded in agreement, offering Rory his arm. His courtly manners were still very good, despite several years spent in the wilds, but the tension in him was palpable. He was skirting a dangerous line just being here, and he knew it. "This way, mistress."

With a last look to Cullen, Rory took the offered arm, forcing herself to wipe the concern from her face as Blackwall escorted her through the ballroom to the great doors that opened into the vestibule. Despite the mask she wore, she knew the people here could likely read her expression with the ease of years of practice. She wanted them to think that Cullen had handed his wife to a trusted friend to seek refreshment, while he returned to his place in the ballroom; she wasn't sure if she had succeeded. A brief glance to the dance-floor revealed that Kaaras was, indeed, dancing with Florianne du Chalons - the evening was definitely accelerating toward its final conclusion. But what that conclusion would be, Rory still could not guess. Celene and Gaspard were both awful options, and Briala was working for her own gain, but somehow, at least one of them had to come out on top tonight. She did not envy her Qunari friend that decision.

Dorian was hidden away in the library, pale as he cradled his broken wrist, sipping an elfroot potion to numb the pain while Solas waited patiently beside him.

"Ah, there you are," he managed in a tight tone. "A prettier healer I never did see."

"Did you have another argument with a door, Dorian?" Rory asked, kneeling down in front of him to gently inspect the state of his wrist.

"Sadly, no," he informed her, cheerful despite his injury. "A Venatori thug objected to my outfit rather violently, as it happens."

"Well, the cutting edge of fashion is rather brutal," she agreed, turning his hand as gently as she could. "This is going to be incredibly painful."

"You know, just once it would be nice if you could lie through your teeth about the pain aspect," the altus complained, gritting his teeth already.

"Are you ready, Solas?" she asked, tilting her head up to the elven apostate. She found it a little strange that none of the group had tried to set this wrist themselves, but then maybe they'd leapt at the chance to get her out from under the nobles' eyes for a few minutes. It would be nice to think that was the case, but it was more likely that no one wanted the responsibility of resetting the bone in case it went wrong.

Solas nodded silently, raising his hand over the injured arm, prepared to pour that healing magic into Dorian's limb the moment the bone was set. "On your mark, healer."

"All right, then." She turned her attention back to the wrist. "Dorian, what's the Tevinter word for sexy?"

"The ... why in Andraste's name would you want to know tha - vishante kaffas!"

He threw back his head with a strangled groan of blinding agony as she used his confusion to tug the bones back into position. A moment later, Solas was done, and all that remained was the lingering memory of that pain. Dorian scowled at her, flexing his newly healed wrist.

"If I had the energy, I might hate you for that," he told her, nodding gratefully to Solas as the other mage stepped away. "You could have done that a little differently."

"You have a bad habit of tensing up," she informed her friend, taking Blackwall's hand to rise to her feet. "It makes my job harder. Up you get; Cullen wants everyone in the ballroom for the foreseeable."

Together, the three of them made their way back to the ballroom, an interesting enough trio to draw the attention of the curious nobles away from Kaaras disappearing once again with Varric, Cassandra, and Solas. Cullen was nowhere to be seen, but Rory knew what was happening now - the Inquisitor was walking into a trap, and Cullen was giving the order for his soldiers to infiltrate the Winter Palace. A quick sweep of the ballroom revealed that there were a few harlequins in evidence, something that made the redhead distinctly uneasy. She'd only played the big fight ending once, somehow managing to keep her court approval high enough not to have to do it again, but the sight of those Orlesian assassins mixed in with the nobility was giving her a very bad feeling.

When Cullen returned, he all but glued himself to her side, his tension palpable enough that Dorian chose not to tease him about protecting his wife in a room full of nobles who, at worst, wanted to get her into bed. In fact, Dorian was on edge; everyone she knew in this room was on edge. Granthis, who had been so jovial all evening, was watching from the sidelines, his mismatched eyes wary behind his mask. Even the nobility was beginning to feel it, their lively chatter starting to show the strain, when the herald announced that in a few moments, the Empress would be addressing them.

"Where is he?" Cullen muttered, worry and exasperation mingling in his tone. They needed Kaaras here when Celene made her announcement, or everything they'd come here to accomplish would go down the drain. And he didn't even know that Florianne was the assassin.

The suggestion of horns emerging from an unused doorway into the ballroom caught the commander's attention, and he strode away to make sure Kaaras knew what was going on. But Rory was a little more immediately concerned by the sight of the smiling mask of a harlequin too close for comfort, taking up position beside the Inquisition soldier who was guarding the door to the balcony nearby. She squeezed Dorian's arm.

"Let's move a little bit further down the rug here," she murmured to him, subtly nodding toward the theatrically-dressed assassin.

Dorian seemed to barely glance in that direction, but he nodded in agreement. "Ah, yes, the view of the Empress will be so much better from over here," he said aloud. "Her sense of style is unrivaled, so I hear. Or was, before you walked into Halamshiral." In a lower tone, so quiet she almost missed it, he added, "Stay close to me."

"I hardly think anyone's going to remember me after tonight," she told him for the benefit of anyone listening to them, as he guided her to the lee of one of the thick pillars beside the railing that looked down over the dancefloor. Defensible.

"You may be surprised," the altus answered, raising his head. "Ah, I believe the Empress is about to speak."

As the herald called for silence, and Celene took her place to address the court, Rory's eyes searched wildly for Kaaras. He wasn't moving. A cold certainty gripped her heart as her gaze rose to the Empress ... to Florianne circling behind her. She felt sick, hands gripping the warm marble of the railing before her. She knew what was going to happen.

Empress Celene was going to die. And the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, her friend, was going to let it happen. A split second decision ... and there was nothing she could do to change it.

#set in darkness #multi-chapter fic #MGiT #modern girl in thedas #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #rory allen #cullen rutherford #blackwall #dorian pavus #solas #halamshiral #the winter palace #wicked hearts wicked eyes #private moments #flirty nobles #cullen doesn't like being flirted with by orlesians #but has no problem teasing his wife #naughty boy

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shannaraisles · 7 years

Text

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 68 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Home Again

"Rory!"

The redhead glanced up as Cullen's hands found their place at her hips, supporting her now not-inconsiderable weight as she climbed down from the gig. Evy was visible for just a moment, rushing headlong across the upper courtyard and out of sight behind the steps up to the main hall, but it was all but guaranteed that she would be back in sight within seconds, running down the wide stone steps to the lower courtyard, hair and skirts flying.

Cullen grinned as he set his wife on her feet, taking a moment to brush her own hair from her face. "I'd brace, if I was you," he suggested, taking a smart step backward as the slapping sound of leather soles on stone abruptly turned into the thump of footsteps on packed earth.

Rory just had time to set her feet before Evy flew into her arms, the two women thumping together hard enough to knock the older healer back against the gig behind her. But she didn't care. After the long journey home, and the somewhat stressful night and day following her talk with Bull, Rory was glad to be able to release a lot of that tension in almost hysterical laughter as Evy hugged her close and lurched backward to exclaim over the bump.

"You grew! Oh, isn't that so lovely?" One hand on the bump, now gloriously advancing into the last two months at best guess, Evy raised wet eyes above a bright smile to her friend. "I've been so worried about you," she scolded lightly. "You're awful at looking after yourself, and you were kidnapped! Did they at least feed you properly? How is your back? Are you sleeping properly?"

"Yes, yes, hello, good to see you too," Rory replied with a wide grin, smothering her friend in another warm hug. "To answer your questions ... sort of, aching, and most of the time. Can I come in now, Mother?"

Evy flushed as Cullen chuckled nearby, embarrassed to have been called out on her mothering. "Well, I ... you can't blame me," she defended herself stoutly. "I've been worried sick!"

Rory patted her gently on top of her shining dark hair. "Seriously, Evy ... I need to use the facilities and get settled in," she informed her friend.

"Use the ..." Just like that, Evy's authoritative healer mind switched on. She turned on Cullen with a frown. "Have you not been stopping regularly enough?"

The commander's eyes widened, torn between amusement and alarm at the prospect of being scolded by his second's wife in front of the myriad of runners and messengers that had congregated around him. "Ask her, she's the one who refused to stop until we got home," he declared, throwing Rory under the cartwheels of Evy's ire without a moment's hesitation.

"Thank you, brave and fearless commander," Rory drawled as Evy's eyes turned back to her. "I need to use a pot, Evy. Now."

The scolding stopped rather smartly at that point. Taken by the hand, Rory was tugged up the steps to the upper courtyard and ushered into the infirmary, where she was encouraged to make use of the facilities and then given a large cup of water, which somewhat defeated the purpose. The vision of reassuring ugliness that was Granthis without a mask on was busy in a corner - he seemed to have taken over one of the workbenches for on-the-spot potion and poultice mixing, which had never occurred to Rory. He offered her a nod and a quick once-over, not the type to break from work for a little thing like a friend returning safely from an unwarranted adventure. Which meant she had the leisure to find Helene, sitting down beside her recovering friend with a warm, relieved smile.

"I'm so glad you survived," she said softly, gripping the soldier's hand as firmly as she dared.

Helene's smile was just as warm in answer. "More than survived," she promised. "I'll be up and about in just a few days. Your friend is a good healer, for all his quirks."

Rory cast a glance over to the corner, where Granthis was muttering to himself over a smoking pot, and chuckled softly. "Quirks is one way of putting it," she agreed in a quiet tone. I wrote him, but he's so much more than the character I put on paper. Her smile faded as she looked back at Helene. "I'm so sorry," she apologized, guilt filling her expression as she squeezed her friend's hand. "That's twice I've got you hurt. I'm so, so sorry, Helene."

Helene's smile faded to a scolding frown. "Don't you start," she warned. "The commander apologized to me back in the capital, that's bad enough. I was doing my duty; I'd have been ashamed to come out of that with nothing but scratches. Your friend patched me up and got me home. You're alive and well, that's what matters. And you're huge."

The guilty tears that had been threatening to fall were abruptly pushed aside by a loud laugh, that Rory hastily muffled behind her hand for fear of disturbing the other patients. "I am not huge," she objected, looking down at her bump. It was definitely bigger than it had been, though. She'd had to loosen her laces more than once in the last month. "All right, maybe I'm bigger, but not huge. Huge is coming in a couple more weeks, I think."

"When do you think you're due?" Helene asked with interest.

"Two months, maybe?" Rory hazarded a guess. "I haven't seen a midwife in more than a month. Tarren will be able to make a better guess."

"Oh, you can bet she'll be up here now you're back," Helena predicted in amusement. "Anyone would think she was the one having the baby. The commander's little commander."

The impersonation of the merry-tempered midwife who had taken up residence in Skysend was so accurate, Rory found herself smiling again. She was deeply grateful for Tarren, but the woman's cheerful approach to examinations was a little grating at times. And she was so fixated on the baby being Cullen's, she had a tendency to forget Rory's name at times. But despite it all, she was a good midwife, and more than capable of answering Rory's questions, which were getting more and more unsettled as time went on. The looming specter of childbirth without drugs or epidurals was starting to haunt her dreams somewhat.

"Now then, little girl, time you were out of here," Granthis declared, bustling over to the bed with a brilliantly green potion in hand. "Being around the sick is no place for a woman in your condition."

"Are you throwing me out of my own infirmary, Granthis Perivale?" she asked in amusement.

The ugly man considered her for a moment as he handed Helene the potion. The soldier took it in one hand, grimaced, and downed it in one as the apothecary spoke. "Yes, I am," he told Rory levelly. "You're on paperwork for the foreseeable future. Can't risk you catching some of the things in here."

Her eyes narrowed. "Paperwork," she repeated in a dull tone, ignoring Helene's soft snicker.

Granthis met her eyes with a bland expression. "Argue," he suggested warningly. "I dare you."

She held his gaze for a long moment. "You've already spoken to the advisors about this, haven't you?" she asked eventually.

Granthis offered her his disgusting grin, reaching out to pat her head. He knew he'd won without needing the argument, just by getting Josephine and Leliana involved. "Good girl."

Rory sighed heavily. They're going to bury me in reports, she lamented to herself. My own damn fault for getting kidnapped. Honestly, six weeks away, and suddenly I'm not safe around people anymore. It was an uncharitable thought, she knew. They were, all of them, trying to do what was best for her and the baby, and despite her annoyance, she knew they were right. That didn't make it any easier to accept, though.

"All right, fine," she conceded with bad grace. "But I'm still going to be visiting in here, unless there's something deadly virulent going around."

"Wouldn't expect anything less." Granthis chuckled, offering a hand to help her up from the stool as she shared a smile of farewell with Helene. "Go and get settled in, little girl. There's a commander who'll be worrying every time you're out of his sight for a while now."

"Oh, joy," she drawled, obediently making her way back toward the door, where Evy caught her in another warm hug once again. "Evy, I'm only going to the tower." Rory laughed, gently patting her friend's back. "What's all this?"

"Oh ... I didn't want to tell you with you just back home again," the younger woman fretted, glancing about the infirmary. "Come outside."

Suspicion bloomed on Rory's face as she allowed herself to be taken by the hand and drawn out into the afternoon sunlight. Cassandra was beating the crap out of the nearest practice dummy, but she could see Kaaras and Varric approaching from the hall. And Varric had the book in his hand. Finally. It was a shame she couldn't eavesdrop, but Evy seemed determined to pull her out of eyeline, too. Even craning, she couldn't quite see what was going on in Cassandra's little training yard once Evy pulled her to a halt.

Sighing in reluctant acceptance of the fact that she was going to miss Cassandra getting her hands on the next chapter of Swords and Shields, Rory focused her attention on Evy, tilting her head curiously at the look of guilt that was making itself known on her friend's face.

"What is it?"

Evy bit her lip, glancing away before trying to speak. "Um ... well ..." She hesitated, and plunged on. "The Inquisition's going to the Western Approach," she told Rory, and instantly the redhead knew what was coming. Rylen's being deployed to the other side of Orlais. "And, well, it's a long way away, and there's a keep there that needs to be taken and held, and Rylen - that is, Cullen thought - and Rylen accepted, and ..." Evy's expression crumpled in lines of guilt and suppressed excitement. "I'm going with him."

"Of course you're going with him," Rory answered. "Why would I possibly think you wouldn't? We'll have to work up your supply list so you have everything you'll need to set up an infirmary there."

"But ... but I won't be here when -" Evy bit off the words in embarrassment.

Rory felt the flare of panic as she caught up with what was worrying her friend, but forced herself to chuckle as though it was nothing.

"When the baby's born," she finished, making a supreme effort not to show how unsettling it was to realize she was looking at a birth without her friend close by her side. Without Cullen, too, was the next realization. If Adamant is this close, he's not going to let me travel with the army. Fuck, I'm doing this on my own. "So you'll just have to be patient and come visit us, won't you?"

Evy stared at her. "You ... you don't mind?"

Rory squeezed her hand. "Of course I mind," she promised, glad she hadn't told the younger woman that they were cousins. She had a feeling Evy would use that like a weapon to stay here if she had it in her arsenal. "But you should be with Rylen. And even if you weren't married to him, I'd still say you should go. They'll need a senior healer there, and you're it, Evy. You're a good healer, and you know how everything should work. They'll need you there."

The younger woman's eyed widened in surprise. "You ... you think I could do it?" she asked in amazement.

"I know you can," Rory promised her. "There's no one I would trust more to take care of our people than you, Evy."

"I-I ... Really? You really think I, I can do it?"

Rory smiled, reaching out to hug her friend warmly. "I know you can," she assured her friend with every ounce of confidence she could muster. "Trust me, okay? And Tarren will be here to look after me, with Gustav, and probably more people trying to get in on the action, too." And if I keep saying that, I might actually start to believe it.

So ... if they knew they were going to the Western Approach, that meant that Kaaras had sent word ahead. Alistair and Hawke might already be on their way there. The siege at Adamant could only be a couple of months away ... just like the birth of the baby. She rubbed a hand over the crown of her bump, trying not to show her sudden unease. No Evy, and no Cullen. You're on your own for this one, Ror.

#set in darkness #multi-chapter fic #MGiT #modern girl in thedas #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #rory allen #evy trevelyan #cullen rutherford #granthis perivale #helene #sundry others #nothing much happens #just settling in #friendship fluff i guess?

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shannaraisles · 7 years

Text

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 67 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

A Moment of Truth

Skyhold loomed over the mountains, a dark welcome against the twilight sky. It would be another day, at least, before they were really home, but just the sight of the fortress standing proud over the plateau, the sound of the bustling city in the distance, was enough to ease the tension Rory had been carrying for the last three weeks.

Their journey from the Ferelden coast had been a good deal slower than she would have liked. She was sure they could have made it back here in ten days or less, but everyone had been insistent on not traveling any further each day than was absolutely necessary. Everyone had been hovering over her - every time she looked a little pale, or hinted that she might need to avail herself of a handy bush, they'd stopped for a rest that often lasted an hour or more. Dorian had reveled in the easy-going journey, as had Vivienne. Sera had ended up going on ahead, too antsy for the slow going enforced because of everyone else's concern for the healer who kept losing the argument for one more mile. Cassandra, Bull, and Cole had appointed themselves protection for the little gig and its passenger; Cullen had refused to allow anyone else to drive but him. So Rory had spent three weeks getting steadily bigger, aching for home. Now it was just out of reach ... but she had other things on her mind.

Bull had drawn her off to one side, his expression pensive.

"Look, little red," he said, seemingly almost uncomfortable as he glanced toward the camp being set up behind them. "I heard what the kid said in that temple. He's not often wrong. So what does it mean?"

She didn't need a mirror to know that her face had become a mask of horror. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have; she wanted the Ben-Hassrath agent to go on pretending that she was absolutely harmless and exactly what she appeared to be, but it seemed as though he couldn't. That need to know was shining through. He must have been struggling with this all the way here, she realized. This is his last chance to ask away from Leliana's little birds and their nosy ears.

"Uh, I ..." She swallowed, tipping her own wary glance back toward the camp. "I don't know how to explain it," she said quietly. "I promise you, Bull, I am no threat. I'm not a spy, I'm not a mage, I'm just me. I'm what you see, but ... there are things about me that even I don't know. I really don't know how to tell you what Cole meant, and -" She hesitated, a frown painting her expression firm for a moment. "And it isn't something you can tell the Qun."

His concerned expression formed into a deeper frown of his own. "Can't promise I won't tell them, little red," he reminded her, reluctance coloring his words. "The triumvirate ... none of them trust me so much these days. I'm not giving them what they want, and they know it."

She bit her lip, glancing nervously back at the camp setting up. At least no one would worry about her if she was with the Iron Bull, but ... how was he going to react to this? He could see the thoughts flickering through her mind, laying a large hand on her arm.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't change you," he pointed out quietly. "I believe you when you say you're no threat, little red. But I need to know. Your tells, the kid's riddles ... it's a distraction I can't have right now."

"I haven't told anyone about this," she murmured, hoping like hell none of Leliana's little birds was near enough to hear her speak. "Not even Cullen. Bull, I don't even know where to start."

The Qunari mercenary considered her for a moment, then raised his head. "Hey, Cullen," he called. "Just taking the healer to the stream. Perimeter's secure."

There was a pause, and Cullen answered. "Bring her back in one piece, Bull."

Just one sentence, but everyone heard the unspoken threat. If Rory had even a hair out of place when she came back, Cullen would be having words with the Iron Bull. That definitely wasn't something anyone wanted to be witness to. Bull nodded solemnly, offering Rory his arm like a gentleman. Already shaking with the effort of putting her strangeness into words, she took the offered arm with both hands, letting the big Qunari lead her away from the camp. Away from other ears.

They were still within sight of the camp when they reached the stream, the area free from cover and shadows beneath the rising moon. They must have made an interesting sight to those who kept looking over to them - the pregnant healer sat on the smooth roundness of a swept boulder, the enormous horned mercenary crouching easily beside her. But at least no one would hear what she had to say.

"All right, little red," Bull said softly, his voice inviting her to let go of all those worries in one go. "Talk to me."

So she did. She told him about Earth, about the fact that she wasn't aware of who she was in this world or why her mind was here in a body that might not be her own. She told him about the advanced technologies she had grown up with; the games that meant she knew enough about Thedas to pass muster. She told him how little she knew of the person this world believed her to be.

She didn't know why she suddenly needed to share the reasons behind her strangeness, or why it was Bull she trusted with the information, of all people. But she needed to tell someone. Weeks of being a prisoner had brought home once and for all that this was not a game; that there was no guarantee she was coming out of this alive. For the first time, she really truly believed everything around her was really happening, and she was terrified. She couldn't tell Cullen; he knew her too well not to know that there was more she wasn't telling. More than that, he would dig and dig for what she didn't dare share, and the moment he had it all ... she didn't know what he would do. It would break him. Yet Bull, who had more reason to be suspicious than most, who knew she must not be telling him everything, did not even blink.

"That isn't all of it, is it?" he asked gently.

She shook her head, raising a shaking hand to wipe her face. When did I start crying? "I-I can't tell you all of it, Bull," she told him unhappily. "I wish I could, but ... it's hard enough to believe this much. I don't dare share any more."

And what was it she hadn't shared? Of all the unbelievable facts, the one thing she hadn't told him was the foreknowledge her strangeness gave her. That, of everything she had to hide, was the one thing she knew she couldn't be forgiven for. All those lives lost at the Conclave, at Haven, in the chaos spread across the world; they would all believe she could have prevented it. They would all hate her for holding it so close to her chest as around them their friends and allies died.

"I don't even know who I am," she added in frustration. "Granthis knows me; hell, even Cullen has known me longer than I remember knowing him. All I remember starts at the avalanche outside Haven, just a few months before the Conclave."

The Iron Bull offered her a gentle smile. "You want to know you, little red?" he asked, inching just a little closer, despite the detached story she had just told him. "Your name is Aurelia Dupuis; parents, Marcus and Judith; younger brother, Lorcan. Born in Val Chevin on Guardian 18th, 15 Dragon. Pretty unremarkable kid, devout family. Brother died in 28 Dragon, you disappeared in 29 Dragon. Parents tore Orlais apart trying to find you. Then some kid called Rory and her friend, Ria, showed up in Denerim couple of years later, handing out healing skills in exchange for food and shelter. Been all over Ferelden, but I heard you were recruited into the Inquisition in Amaranthine by Cullen himself, about a month and a half before the avalanche you woke up in."

She groaned softly, rubbing her fingers hard over her forehead. "Even you know more about me than I do."

"Don't think you need all the detail to be the person you are, little red," he pointed out. "You're doing just fine without."

"But Cullen -"

"Had his eye on you from the start," Bull informed her, the corner of his mouth threatening to pull into a smile. "One of the things I was sent to you guys to investigate. Cullen would thrive under the Qun, but you're his weak point. They break you, they lose him." He leaned back a little. "Told you once I'd kick the ass off anything that came after you. That still holds, little red."

Rory stared at him, torn between gratitude and horror. Cullen has known me longer than I've known him? Why doesn't he ever mention it? Does he think I have amnesia or something? "So ... what happens now?" she asked warily.

Bull nodded slowly, a pensive frown on his usually open face. "I should tell my superiors," he commented, forestalling her immediate protest with a gentle touch of his big hand over her own. "But there's nothing they can do with this information. They'd want you brought back to Par Vollen, and that is something I will not do. Inquisition needs you. Cullen needs you." He sighed heavily. "And I don't want your breaking on my conscience."

"You really think they'd break me for ... this?" she asked in an uncertain tone. Whatever this is. Gods, how the hell would they even begin to understand something not even I can explain properly?

He nodded. "The viddathlok would want to convert you, but your mind wouldn't bend," he predicted. "The quamek would probably kill you. No, I won't give you up to them." He snarled to himself, rubbing a hand along his horn in frustration. "I'm walking a line these days, little red. Order's going to come soon, and I don't know if I'll follow it."

Rory hesitated. She knew what that order would be; she knew the outcome of either decision he could make. One hand reached out to touch his bare shoulder. "Do what you need to do," she suggested. "But you have friends here, Bull, real friends who would rather die at your side than see you fall. Their own choice, rather than a duty that has to be performed. I don't know how the Qunari stand up when compared with our loyal lack of order."

Bull sighed heavily once more, patting the hand she'd laid on his shoulder. "I don't want to make that choice, red," he growled softly. "That isn't the life I was born to live."

"Sometimes the right decision isn't the easiest to see," Rory mused, raising her head to look up at the sky, the two moons rising above them. Well, you told him. So why doesn't it feel like you did something right? "Sometimes the only thing you can do is ask someone you trust to decide for you."

The look he gave her was sharp, but on this, at least, she felt on solid ground. Let Kaaras decide for you, she willed him to hear the unspoken advice. He won't let you lose yourself to the Qun. As much as they've given you, the Chargers give you more. There was an addition from the inner fangirl - If you let the Chargers die, I will go off you and never play your romance ever, ever again. And despite herself, Rory felt her lips twitch toward a smile. Bull's eye narrowed, but he smiled with her, squeezing her hand gently.

"Might be something in that," he conceded thoughtfully. "Try and take it yourself once in a while. You're terrible at making decisions about your own safety."

She snorted with laughter, shaking her head at him. "If I let everyone else make the decisions for me, I would never go anywhere," she pointed out as he helped her to her feet.

"Red, every time you've gone somewhere, you've gotten beat up or kidnapped," the big Qunari pointed out easily. "Stop making those decisions."

"I ..." Her mouth shut. He was right. She deflated. "Fine, I'll talk to people about going places before I do it," she offered. "Happy with that?"

Bull laughed. "Very," he assured her. But as they turned back to the camp, he laid a warm hand on her back, lowering his voice. "Just ... don't go back where you came from. World won't be the same without the little red we know."

It was a pensive Rory he delivered back to Cullen, who flicked a curious glance between the pair of them before drawing her down and handing her a bowl of soup to eat. He didn't press to know what had been said, or try to pry into something that had clearly given her a great deal to think about. But she didn't think he missed the fact that the way the Iron Bull looked at her had changed. Surely sharing secrets was supposed to make you feel better? But she didn't feel better. She'd shared one of her deepest secrets, and instead of feeling freed by it, she felt more isolated. It was awful. And there wasn't a damned thing she could do about it.

One more thing I'm going to have to learn to live with.

#set in darkness #multi-chapter fic #MGiT #modern girl in thedas #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #rory allen #iron bull #cullen rutherford #telling the big secret #friendship #slight angst #she'll live #promise

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shannaraisles · 7 years

Text

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 62 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Trouble

The Guildhall of the Orlesian Guild of Healers and Apothecaries was certainly impressive.

Perhaps surprisingly, it held pride of place among the villas and manor houses of Val Royeaux, not so very far from the manor where the Inquisition was staying for the duration of their visit to the capital. Rory had visited more than a few castles and cathedrals in her time - England was a treasure trove when it came to places like that - but nothing could have prepared her for the grand scale on which everything in Orlais seemed to be built. Her former visit to the bazaar had not warned her just how ornate the noble quarter of this city was; how much the rich and powerful needed to flaunt their wealth and influence through architecture and grand design.

The Guildhall was no different. Strikingly white, it towered over the villas around it, a home for those who practiced within the city, as well as a school for those who wished to learn. Of course, those who wished to learn had to pay for the privilege, but since Orlais seemed to run on little but gold and influence, that was no real surprise. Inside was no better. Fluted columns rose toward a vaulted ceiling that any Earth Renaissance artist would have bitten through his brush to get a hand on; a grand, wide staircase dominated the foyer; every inch of the cornices and edgings dripped with offensively golden Rococo-esque ornamentation.

"A little ostentatious," Rory murmured to her escort.

Helene nearly managed to swallow her snort of amusement. "We are in Orlais," she pointed out to the healer.

Rory flicked a sly glance in her friend's direction. "I thought you were supposed to be proud of your homeland?" she teased softly.

Helene rolled her eyes. "The land and the people," she murmured quietly. "The lords and ladies can die in a hole for all I care."

"All hail the nobility and their frilly cakes," the redhead replied.

"We can keep the cakes," Helene muttered in answer. "Make them watch us eat them from their hole."

She caught Rory's eye, and both women dissolved into badly concealed giggles as they made their way further into the ridiculously overdone building. They stood out among the crowd of people gathered there. The foyer was filled with milling nobles, masked and expensively-dressed; even the healers among them wore fine clothing and half-masks, the better to fit in. Rory and Helene, with their sturdy Inquisition-issue clothing and bare faces, were an anomaly among the oddly faceless crowd.

"Ah, Madame Rutherford, what a pleasure to see you after the unpleasantness of last night."

Rory paused, taking a moment to work out which of the masked nobles had spoken to her. Thankfully, the man in question was also gesturing to make it clear. She offered a smile, studying him thoughtfully for a moment, and finally remembered who he was.

"Marquis du Chambois, good morning," she greeted him, deliberately speaking Common rather than Orlesian. It wouldn't do for them to realize the morning after the Wintersend Ball that she'd understood every petty word they'd spoken within her earshot the night before. "Unpleasantness is a rather clean word to describe a murder witnessed by hundreds, isn't it?"

She could almost see the man wince behind his full mask. "Assassination, madame," he corrected her painfully. "The terrors of political life, you understand. And how is your delightful husband this morning? I see he has not accompanied you here."

"Not in the best of moods," she told him quite honestly. Cullen had spent the first hours of the day complaining about having to spend the rest of the day back in the Winter Palace, holding Gaspard's hand. "The Inquisition is assisting your new Emperor to settle into his role."

"Ah, of course," the marquis declared, nodding as though he'd known that all along. "And you are not invited?"

"I have other duties, marquis," Rory pointed out with a wry smile. "Unless the Emperor has terrible heartburn, or an ulcer developed from his guilt complex, I am of little use in the Winter Palace today." She saw his gaze rake over her, no doubt trying to reconcile the beautiful gown and perfect manners from last night with the definitely blunter, far more common version of herself she was presenting for him today. His gaze paused at her midriff.

"Madame, I had no idea," he exclaimed, one gloved hand offering a rounded gesture in the direction of the pregnant bump that was impossible to conceal without wrapping herself in several layers of cloak and coat.

Rory felt Helene stifle a laugh as she looked down, feigning shock. "Terrible, isn't it?" she asked the marquis. "I can't think what caused it. Must have been something I ate."

If only she could have seen his face; she was certain his jaw dropped behind the mask, trying to reconcile the knowledge that she was a healer with the presented offering that suggested she didn't know she was pregnant. "Ah ... I think, madame, you are toying with me," he managed eventually.

Rory gave him her most sweetly innocent look. "Am I?" she asked, glancing past him to where a far more plainly-dressed individual was gesturing toward her. "Do excuse me, marquis."

Leaving the nobleman gaping behind his mask, in possession of gossip he dared not share in case the healer really wasn't pregnant, Rory caught Helene's eye as they moved toward the gesticulating fellow by the bottom of the stairs. The soldier was grinning, and making absolutely no attempt to hide the expression, more than happy to stand by as Rory confused the nobility of her homeland with a joke so transparent it might as well not even exist.

"Ah, Mistress Rutherford," the gesticulating fellow declared, a flicker of a vaguely reptilian smile on the visible lower portion of his face. "I am Gervain Montevarde, Secretary of the Guild. I understand you are to add your name to our roll today?"

"That was my understanding, yes," she agreed with a slow nod. "I had thought that the Guild Master was to be joining us, and Master Perivale."

"Oh, Master Ansel has been called to the Winter Palace," Gervain informed her, gesturing for her to follow as he lead the way from the main foyer and through a series of smaller - though still no less ornate - rooms. "He requested Master Perivale's presence as a matter of some urgency, I understand."

"Interesting." Rory felt herself frown, catching Helene's eye. Odd, that the two men who had arranged all this weren't going to be here to see it done. But then, getting in good with the new Emperor was probably more important than holding her hand today.

The room they were lead into was certainly more to her taste. Simple, slightly cluttered, smelling of elfroot and old potions. What she wasn't sure she approved of were the two large figures who turned to look at them as they entered. The door closed behind them, announcing the presence of a third. Gervain gave her another of his reptilian smiles.

"Dreadful business," he said conversationally. "We simply cannot allow the Master to invite Ferelden riff-raff into our guild. I cannot imagine what the Grand Master was thinking. You aren't the sort we're looking for. They, however, were very interested in you."

There was the suggestion of a scuffle behind her. Rory turned, flinching back as Helene's sword was dragged out of her friend's hand and tossed into a corner. This, as it turned out, was a bad move. It brought her within range of the other two, one of whom laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, a sharp gasp erupting from her lips, as the unmistakable press of a blade made itself known at the vulnerable swell of her gravid belly. Helene's gaze instantly snapped downward to the threatening blade, and all fight went out of her, her eyes meeting Rory's with the understanding that they had been defeated without a blow being shared.

"Very good, healer," a smooth voice by Rory's ear spoke, with the Tevene inflection she'd grown so used to from Dorian. But this was not a friend. "You are required outside the city. Any trouble, and I will cut the babe from your belly and leave you to die, is that understood?"

Cold terror trickling down her spine, Rory nodded hurriedly, trying to draw away from the blade pressed against her side. Her heart was hammering in her chest, the quickening rhythm of her unborn child intensifying in answer to the panic that had gripped her. The last time she had been in such immediate danger had been Haven, the adrenaline pumping too strongly for her to have noticed how cold true fear really was. Despite all her training, she couldn't bring herself to fight. She wouldn't just be putting herself in danger if she tried.

Helene's expression was tortured; she had failed for the second time, but no one could really hold it against her this time, could they? They both knew Cullen would. And quite suddenly, they both knew he really couldn't, as the thug at Helene's back slid a narrow poniard between the plates of armor at her side, stabbing deep once, twice, twisting the blade before pulling it free.

"No!"

The hand on her shoulder kept Rory from rushing to her friend as Helene staggered, one hand reaching to try and stem the gushing flow of blood from her side. Gervain looked horrified.

"Gentlemen, you clearly stated no blood would be spilled -"

"So fix her," the cultured Tevene voice at Rory's back told him coldly. "Fix her and send her back to the Inquisition. They should be told what's happened to their healer, after all." He laughed unpleasantly.

"If she dies, they won't, will they?" the secretary snapped, but to Rory's relief, he was already moving to compress the wound Helene had been given.

The Tevinter - Venatori, Rory realized with a start - seemed to consider this for a moment. He snatched at her left hand, dragging Cullen's ring from her finger. "Hold onto this for your delicate little healer, soldier girl," he said cruelly, tossing the ring to Helene. She scrabbled to snatch it up from where it had fallen. "Tell your commander that Samson sends his regards. Come along, healer."

The hand on Rory's shoulder tightened, pulling her away with firm, inexorable strength. She had no choice but to allow herself to be guided away from Helene, frightened more for her friend in that moment than for herself, though she knew neither of them had much of a chance at this point. Samson. Samson sends his regards. So this was intentional, aimed at Cullen through her. What was he going to do when she didn't come back, when Helene ... if Helene lived long enough to share that information? He'd already been tracking his former colleague, with Leliana's help, she knew that much. Perhaps the Inquisition would be able to catch up to them. Her heart sank at that thought. She was fairly sure her captors would feel no compunction about slitting her throat and her belly the moment they were in danger of being overtaken.

Numb with fear and shock, she barely noticed being guided from the Guildhall, bundled into a carriage waiting in the street. Had any of the nobles noticed that she'd left with people she had not arrived with? Would anyone raise the alarm before the Inquisition noticed her absence? Was Helene dying? She had no answers to any of these questions, and no means to leave a trail, kept in place in the rattling jostle of the carriage by the knife pressed to her belly.

"I must say, I am surprised," her captor said smoothly, lowering his hood. His face matched his voice; cultured, perfectly groomed, a sharp goatee meticulously maintained on a face that looked at her the way a fox watches a rabbit. "I had thought you would be foolish enough to at least scream for help."

"I'm pregnant, not stupid," she snapped back at him. "They'll find you. You won't get away with this for long."

He laughed. The sound might almost have been pleasing from anyone else's lips. "My dear girl, I rather think I will," he assured her. "You see, this is my only contribution to my master's general and his plans. By the time you are far to the north, I will be in the Hissing Wastes, pursuing a far more satisfactory goal."

She glared at him. "I hope a lurker chews your balls off."

His eyes narrowed. "Save your concern for your child, Mistress Rutherford," he suggested. "Or should I call you Lady Dupuis?" He smirked at the way her eyes widened. "Your history is fascinating. A lady of Orlais disappears from her father's house at marriageable age, and resurfaces two years later in the dregs of Ferelden society. A new name was all it took to hide from your dear parents, it seems. We have rather better spies at our disposal."

"Spies so good that your master's plans were completely derailed at the ball last night," Rory spat, trying not to look too shocked at this revelation. I'm Orlesian? This is nuts - how the hell can I be Orlesian? Or the me from Thedas is Orlesian ... I can't deal with this right now.

His smirk deepened. "Is that what you think? Oh, my dear lady, you are greatly mistaken. Who else has spies within both the Inquisition and the Imperial Palace?"

Her mouth pressed tightly closed. She knew someone who had spies everywhere, but Solas wasn't the antagonist for the present time. Solas was their ally. Hope sprang suddenly - perhaps his people would alert him to what had happened. Surely he had someone in the Guildhall? There was a possibility worth clinging to.

"The resentment of a small man is so easy to buy these days," her captor continued. "And that odious little merchant does despise you. You really shouldn't have made such a fool of him."

"Merchant?" Rory frowned in confusion. "What mer - Oh, Seggrit, you utter ..." She trailed off, anger steaming through her thoughts. Seggrit had sold her out. His resentment and ego made him a perfect target for spies with money. How long had Samson been planning to make her a pawn in his games? Cullen was going to be furious.

"Yes," the Tevinter mage said amicably, glancing through the draped window of the carriage as they passed through the last gate on the far side of the reservoir. "Odious little beast, he is, but full of information about your little organization. Injured arrogance is so easy to stoke."

"Keep gloating," she warned. "One day, not very far from now, the Inquisitor will slide a sword between your ribs. And if I'm very lucky, I'll be there to see it."

"Oh, I doubt that, my lady." He nodded to the thug at her side. "Bind her hands, gag her. We really should do this the right way."

Rory knew better than to fight as heavy hands wrapped rope about her wrists in a complex figure-of-eight, as thick fingers tucked a length of rough linen between her teeth to hold down her tongue and tied it behind her head. Silenced and bound, she glared at the pair of them, trying to hold her terror at bay. They were already miles from the Inquisition's base of operations in Val Royeaux. How much further away would they be before anyone realized what had happened? Why hadn't she thought this would ever happen to her?

One thing was absolutely certain in her mind. Cullen is going to go spare.

#set in darkness #multi-chapter fic #MGiT #modern girl in thedas #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #rory allen #helene #val royeaux #venatori #kidnapping #canon-typical violence #nasty threats #look i wandered away from the main plotline

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shannaraisles · 7 years

Text

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 56 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: None Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Twinkle Toes

"Gentlemen outside, ladies inside ..."

The delicate strains of the lute underscored Josephine's gentle reminder of where they were supposed to be at this point in the dance. Palm to palm with Dorian as they circled in time to the music, Rory found herself once again sending mild disapproval through the ether to Cullen, who had somehow managed to avoid taking part in these interminable lessons on etiquette and courtly behavior. This little group certainly made for an interesting learning experience.

"Still don't see the point," Sera was complaining on the other side of the room, snickering as her partner - Leliana - corrected her direction with just a touch to her shoulder. "Anyone asks me to dance, I'll kick 'em."

"No, you will not." Vivienne sighed wearily. "You will politely decline. Bull, darling, you're squeezing again."

"Sorry, ma'am," the big Qunari agent apologized, concentrating on loosening his grip on the First Enchanter's fingers.

"Please remember not to close the distance between yourself and your partner when you spin," Josephine called. The ambassador had taken on the task of teaching Kaaras to dance, and despite all initial fears, he was proving to be surprisingly good at it.

"So just how big is this going to be in two weeks' time?" Dorian asked as Rory spun tentatively out under his arm and back in to lay her hand on his shoulder and fall into the waltzing part. He gestured to the bump at her middle.

It was definitely a bump now, more difficult to hide despite its relative smallness. Her pants no longer fitted, her dresses were starting to feel snug, and Cullen had had to cut new holes in the leather of her belt after a particularly petulant outburst when she could no longer fasten the thing comfortably about herself. Thankfully, however, it was still small enough to disappear in the flouncing layers of skirt Francoise was gleefully putting the finishing touches to.

"Not too much bigger than this, I hope," Rory answered Dorian's query with a half-shrug. "Otherwise even with the dress I'm going to have to be careful not to get too close to people."

He looked down at the smooth bulge, with its unmistakable shape, gently intruding on the space between them. "I am still mildly astonished that there's a baby in there," he admitted quietly. It had been a while since he'd had to correct her when it came to dancing - while everyone else was concentrating, the two of them had managed to hold some interesting conversations. "I daresay it won't be real until the brat starts to kick."

"You're so complimentary." Rory chuckled, shaking her head gently. "If you ever say the word "fat", I will kick you."

"I will deserve it, if I do," Dorian assured her with a smile behind his mustache. "Not that I would, I am the soul of civility."

But protest as he might, the altus was fascinated by her pregnancy. She hadn't thought he'd be all that interested, really, but it was Dorian who had noticed she winced whenever wine was offered to her and had taken steps to make sure it didn't happen again; Dorian, who had gently suggested that perhaps she should start wearing the dresses rather than squeeze into her pants; Dorian, who was reading textbooks on midwifery and child-rearing in his spare time. He didn't seem entirely sold on the idea of ever actually interacting with the baby, but he was certainly invested in making sure the pregnancy was a successful one.

Given the way things had been left with his father in Redcliffe, it was doubly surprising that he would care quite so much about friends who must, in some way, remind him of the "perfect" son Halward had wanted instead of him. But Rory appreciated the way he went about it, that understated way of just doing things that needed to be done, saying the right things to Cullen when he was in a state, absently pulsing heat into her when they met in chilled corridors. Dorian was becoming possibly her best friend here, and she really wasn't sure how to tell him that. Especially since, in the games, he only ever admitted to being friends with the Inquisitor.

"I do hope you two are speaking Orlesian," Vivienne called as they whirled past the ridiculous sight of her still trying to teach Bull that he wasn't allowed to just pick her up and swing her around the floor, no matter how much easier it was.

"Comment ne pouvons-nous pas avec vous écouter chaque mot?" Dorian answered her in flawless Orlesian, sending Rory into giggles that were echoed by Sera on the other side of the room.

"I am not listening to every word you say," the First Enchanter objected, but there really was very little she could do about it - the altus had already managed to whirl his dance partner to the other end of the carefully cleared floor.

"You know, I'm getting the distinct impression that they don't believe I'm more than capable of holding a conversation in Orlesian by this point," Rory drawled, hesitating for just a moment as the music changed.

Only for a moment - the pressure of Dorian's hand on her side changed subtly, and she remembered what came next with that gentle guidance. It was a shame she wouldn't be able to dance every dance with him, really; once she was with another partner, there was every chance she was going to forget how this went entirely.

"You are going to be a spy for the evening," the altus pointed out in amusement. "As well as furthering your own career, no doubt."

She giggled, falling into the promenade with him easily. "My career is the last thing on my mind when it comes to walking into that snake pit, Dorian."

"My dear girl, one of the Masters of the Guild has invited you as his guest," he reminded her with a low chuckle. "You may be a Mistress of the Guild before the night is through!"

"You sound more excited about that than Granthis does," she protested, glad to see him relaxing once again. "Evy's the one who should be joining the Guild; she's got more talent for healing than I ever did."

"Ah, but sadly the captain and his wife will be returning to Skyhold only a day after we leave for the in-bred glories of Halamshiral," Dorian pointed out in amusement. "You will simply have to ... what was that charming phrase you used the other day? Ah, yes. Suck it up."

Over the sound of Rory's uncontrollable piggy-snort of laughter, Josephine called out, "Turn and bow, the dance is over."

"I should never have told you what that phrase meant," Rory giggled as she curtsied to Dorian, rolling her eyes at the look of pure mischief on his face.

"But you make such adorable noises when I use it," he protested innocently, accepting the gentle slap she gave to his midriff without comment. "Truly! That sweet little snort is the brightest light of my day!"

"If you make me do that at the Winter Palace, I may have to spike your wine with something that'll make you see dancing fairies," she threatened, though they both knew she'd never do it.

It was a strange sort of friendship they had, but it was friendship, and one she treasured. If there was anyone she felt she might be able to tell about her not-very-Thedosian background, it was Dorian, but it felt cruel to lay that burden on his shoulders. He didn't deserve to hear all about how weird everything here was to someone who had grown up with electricity and indoor plumbing. But she also knew that if she ever did let anything slip to him, he wouldn't immediately assume she was dangerous. Dorian, of all people, knew that what was presented was never the whole story.

"Very good," Josephine was saying, looking over the four of them who were supposed to be learning how to dance. "Sera ... perhaps you should only dance with members of the Inquisition."

Sera rolled her eyes, making a slightly rude noise. "I'm not dancin'," she informed Josephine easily.

The ambassador restrained her sigh, and didn't bother to argue. Sera was problematic, but she had insisted on being at the Winter Palace along with everyone else, so all Josephine could do was lay a thin veneer of etiquette over the Red Jenny's habitual attitude and hope for the best. She looked much happier with the progress of Bull, Kaaras, and Rory, though.

"The same time again tomorrow, please," she told them. "We will be starting on the quadrille, which is the last of the official court dances you will have to learn. Rory ... please wear the shoes."

Rory just about managed to hide her wince. "Yes, Josie," she agreed in a resigned voice.

She hated the shoes. Oh, they were beautiful. Leliana had gone all the way to Val Royeaux to commission them herself, and had returned with the materials and the cobbler to make certain they fitted to perfection. The only problem was the heels. Rory had never really worn heels on Earth, and here on Thedas, she was more than comfortable in her flat boots. Learning to walk and dance in shoes that had a two inch heel, however comfortable they were, was not a fun experience.

"I do solemnly swear not to let you fall over unless I am underneath you," Dorian murmured to her, earning himself another soft piggy-snort that made her cringe.

"Okay, you are officially bad for my composure," she informed her friend fondly. "I have to get back to the infirmary. Merrill was threatening to drop in, and Gustav has no idea how to handle unfettered enthusiasm."

"Back to the grind, I see," he agreed, moving to walk with her as the group left the study to wander back to their own amusements. All but Kaaras, who had an entire nation's worth of titles and names to learn in two weeks.

It didn't seem long enough for them to be comfortable with what they needed to know. It certainly was looming in Rory's mind, made worse by the fact that she was technically going to be there alone. Oh, she trusted Granthis; she was sure he would go out of his way to make sure nothing terrible happened to her; but a part of her desperately wanted to either be left at home, or to be wearing that silly uniform and glued to Cullen's side all night. The gown - which was, admittedly, beautiful - was also going to be utterly unique at the ball. She was going to draw attention just standing quietly in a corner, whether she wanted to or not. But it was all a show. Her role was to be vacuous and alert for anything she might overhear, to distract the nobles with her unusual style of dress and her dazzling charm (or lack of it) so that Kaaras and the rest of them could do what they were there to do in the first place.

It didn't help that she genuinely had no idea which way her Qunari friend's opinion would fall when it came to the outcome of the evening. She'd thought he would ally with the templars; instead, he had conscripted the mages. On paper, he might seem to favor an alliance of all three, to keep Orlais focused on itself, but in practice, who knew what he might decide to do. Or not do, she reminded herself. She didn't want to think about the very real possibility that her friend might just stand back and let someone be murdered in front of him, but she couldn't get away from the knowledge that Cullen was inclined to support that decision himself. Every now and then, Thedas threw these differences at her - differences in opinion that made her modern mind reel back from the consequences of. I'm just glad that I don't have to make that decision.

She paused on the steps outside the door to the main hall, hugging her arms about herself as she let the chilly breeze clear away the cobwebs. Down in the lower courtyard, she could see the rawest of the raw recruits being put through their initial paces; habit drew her eyes up to the battlements opposite, where Cullen was watching them critically. Unusually, though, he wasn't alone. Garrett Hawke was leaning against the stone wall of the gatehouse tower, the two men apparently in quiet, slightly awkward conversation. And that's another thing not to look forward to, she remembered with an unhappy sigh. The siege of Adamant was on the far horizon, on the other side of the Winter Palace, and Hawke might die there. Gods, what if his Warden friend is Alistair? That's going to hurt me. But the choice would be a no-brainer for Kaaras, very likely. To choose between a mage who was slowly becoming a friend, who understood the pressures he was under in a way no one else ever would, and a Grey Warden who would not have that same emotional impact with him ... it wasn't a choice, not really. For the first time, Rory found herself hoping the Warden was Loghain. That would serve him right. But again, she couldn't help feeling glad that the decision would not be hers to make. She would simply live the consequences with everyone else.

Her hand rubbed absently over the little bulge at her waist. There really was no mistaking that she was pregnant now, but at least layering up could still conceal the obvious evidence. Well, the tummy evidence. She bit her lips against a grin. Cullen had taken obvious delight in helping her to adjust her new breast-band to fit when it became obvious that her ladies were putting on weight. She couldn't help feeling proud of them - she'd always felt a little lacking in the breast department. Pregnancy had certainly perked them up a little, though she had a feeling that wouldn't last. Still, she intended to enjoy them while she could.

Letting that grin loose, she jogged down the steps to the upper courtyard, heading toward her infirmary with purpose. Two weeks, and she wouldn't be here to hover and annoy everyone for at least another two weeks. She wanted to be certain everything was in good condition for Evy's return.

Thinking of Evy broadened her smile as she passed the tavern. The newly-weds had been summarily dismissed to the Free Marches for a honeymoon, where Bann Trevelyan and his family were hosting them more than happily. If Aveline Vallen can do it, why not them? She'd received precisely one letter from her friends, which had consisted of a ridiculously long description of the feast Evy's father had thrown and all the people who were there from Evy, and a slightly shorter, definitely smug description of what it was really like to be a husband from Rylen. They were gloriously in love. It might almost have been sickening, if she hadn't known the feeling intimately herself.

Still, she wouldn't see either of them for a month. As Dorian had said, they were due to return the day after the inner circle decamped to Val Royeaux and Halamshiral. It was already strange not to have Evy right here to tell her how to behave around the various noble visitors; not to constantly run into Rylen in the evenings as he came ot the infirmary to collect his lady love. She missed them, but she was glad they had this chance to enjoy being married before life and war rolled in on top of them again. They were lucky not to be coming to the Winter Palace. If she could get out of it, she would.

She pushed opened the door to the infirmary, ducking inside with a reassuring smile for Gustav. Work now, worry later. Much later.

#set in darkness #multi-chapter fic #MGiT #modern girl in thedas #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #rory allen #dorian pavus #sera #iron bull #josephine montilyet #vivienne de fer #leliana #kaaras adaar #lessons for the winter palace #how to dance 101 #small bit of angst about what's coming

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shannaraisles · 7 years

Text

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 65 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Fear and Courage

Rory woke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest, sweat slick on her skin. Her eyes snapped open, shock pouring through her system as the baby kicked within her womb.

But there was nothing to see. No threat, no danger. Just the gentle rock of the berth beneath her, the reassuring creak of the ship under sail, the reassurance of friendly voices outside the door, the resounding snores of the Qunari sleeping above her. She let her head fall back to the pillow, only to jolt up once more. No Cullen. Her hand searched the narrow berth beside her for her husband. No sign of him. The sheets were cool, though the indent of his head on the pillow remained. She pushed herself to sit up, careful not to hit her head on the bunk that lay above this one, slithering to the edge of the bunk to let her booted feet find the solid planks of the deck.

It was still dark, but there was the suggestion of light through the porthole. I slept all night, then, she noted, guessing that dawn must not be far away. That, in itself, was something to be pleased with. In the four days since she had been rescued from the hands of the red templars, she had not slept more than three hours without waking from nightmares crowded with red lyrium and clawing terrors. Yes, a nightmare had woken her this time, too, but not before she had slept enough that her body could handle the fear without panicking. Waking up without Cullen there, though ... that was worrying. He'd been right there these past three nights, holding her close, ready to reassure her despite his own nightmares, despite the lingering pains that had flared up thanks to his proximity to the Blighted lyrium. Had she slept through a nightmare of his? Gods ... did he even come to bed? No, the imprint is on the pillow. He was there, at least long enough for his head to leave an impression.

She scowled to herself, bending awkwardly to fish the chamberpot out from under the bunk and avail herself of the limited facilities. A little more comfortable, she unhooked her cloak from the wall and quietly opened the door, stepping over the lip and into the common area below-decks, where several men and women were in the process of waking up or settling down. Cassandra caught her eye as she looked around.

"He is on deck," the Seeker told her, jerking her chin toward the steep steps up to the open deck above. She eyed Rory worriedly. "Are you well, Rory? You seem pale."

Rory shook her head, forcing a smile. "A nightmare, that's all," she assured her friend. "How long before we make land?"

Cassandra sighed gustily - she did not like sailing. "I believe we are expected to land in Ferelden at some point today," she offered. "It is a good plan, though I do not relish the necessary separation before you and the commander are back in Skyhold."

Rory felt her smile deepen without having to force it. "You want to go with Kaaras," she translated softly, touched that Cassandra was so concerned about giving the persistent Qunari into the capable hands of another warrior.

The Seeker flushed, glancing away. "I ... I would be happier to be at his side," she confessed, moving with the healer as they stepped away from the gathered group. "It is not easy for me to say this. I, I care for him. Very much. Though I understand why he has chosen to take Blackwall this time, I do not feel easy with the decision."

"You can't protect him from miles away," Rory murmured in understanding. "Cass ... have you actually told Kaaras how you feel about him? He adores you."

The scandalized look that crossed Cassandra's face was worth the vague nausea of being on a rocking vessel. "I cannot do that!" the Nevarran woman exclaimed, forcing her voice to remain low despite her protest. "He is the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste -"

"He's a man who loves you," Rory interrupted her firmly. "A man who is jumping through so many hoops to prove to you just how much he loves you." She sighed softly, seeing the conflict on Cassandra's face, and relented. "Just ... promise me something, all right? Promise me that when he does tell you how he feels, you won't just reject him out of hand. At least think about telling him the truth."

"I ..." Cassandra hesitated, glancing down at her hand on her sword for a brief moment. "I will think about it," she promised eventually. "Come, you wished to go above."

A little nonplussed by the fact that Cassandra was escorting her to the upper deck of a ship where everyone was friendly, Rory conceded without a fight, needing hands and feet to get up the steep companionway and out into the brisk chill of the dawn breeze that swept the deck. Around her, the crew bustled about their work. She couldn't pretend to even guess what went into keeping a sailing ship on course and in one piece, but she appreciated that they did. Hugging her cloak tighter about herself, she shivered briefly. Spring was here, certainly, but out on the estuary river, in the face of the wind, the darkness before dawn was a cold place to be awake. Her gaze swept the deck, searching for Cullen. Cassandra touched her arm, pointing to the forecastle deck, where a tall figure stood alone, watching the Frostback Mountains glide past in the pre-dawn dusk.

"I will leave you here," the Seeker said quietly, confirming the suspicion that Rory had been put under close guard. "Rory ... he is struggling. If you can ..."

She nodded to Cassandra. "I'll try."

Taking a firm grip on the damp steps, she clambered up them without much grace, rising to her usual height when she was certain her feet were not going to slip. The first mate nodded to her as she passed, but offered no other acknowledgement that he was not alone on the forecastle. Evidently the commander was not in to visitors.

Cullen stood in the lee of the figurehead, just at the bow, gloved hands resting on the wide rail that ran the span of the ship. He was pale in the twilight of the dawn, his expression anguished. Rory could see his fingers trembling against the wood, and her heart went out to him. He'd tried so hard these past days to keep her from seeing how the proximity of the red lyrium clusters had torn at his control, awakening fears he had thought put to rest. She knew him well enough to know that he must have hoped she would wake up later than she had, so he could pretend not to have been struggling alone in the last hour of the night. But he'd helped her as she struggled; he should know by now that she would always help him.

She stepped to his side without a word, laying her bare hand over his as she looked up at the sweeping mountains passing by, giving no sign that she noticed the way he drew in his breath sharply; the way his shoulders stiffened and relaxed. His gloved hand turned beneath her own, stroking fingertips over her bare palm for a brief moment before releasing her fingers, stepping closer to wrap that arm about her back and claim the abandoned hand with the other. He raised her fingers to his lips, his breath still staggered as he kissed her chilled skin, finding something soothing in just her presence. She tilted her head, her cheek finding the spray-touched fur of his mantle as they stood together in silence, letting him have the time he needed to let the words come. The time seemed right.

But the words, those broken words stifling his thoughts, haunting his mind ... did not come. All right, love, Rory thought to herself, drawing in a slow, deep breath. I'm sorry, but you have to talk about this.

"What was her name?" she asked softly.

Cullen's reaction was almost electric. She felt him jerk in surprise, his entire body going rigid against hers, fingers almost threatening to crush her own before he caught himself. She didn't need to look to know he had gone white as a sheet, keeping her eyes on the passing scenery, letting him have a little space even as she nudged her way through the cracks in the wall that kept his darkest days hidden.

"I ..." His breath warmed her brow as his arm tightened gently about her, holding her close as a shield against the memories she was asking him to share. "Iselan," he said quietly. "Her name was Iselan."

Holy fucking hell ... It took everything Rory had not to react to that name. That's my Warden. My first Warden. But ... I didn't make Garrett Hawke, not the Hawke I've met here. So how is Iselan a part of Cullen's memories?

"She grew up in the Ferelden Circle," Cullen was saying, oblivious to her carefully concealed shock. "I was very young when I was stationed there; older than her, but still young. And she was ... everything I dreamed about but knew I could never have. So I promised myself that, no matter what happened, I would protect her. And ... and I failed."

Her fingers turned in his grasp, linking between his own as he faltered. She knew what had happened, or could guess the worst of it, but she couldn't tell him so. He needed to give it voice, somehow. If he was ready to tell her, then perhaps it would help to combat the nightmares that plagued him so badly. Daring a glance up at him, she found his pained eyes fixed on her fingers ... on his mother's ring, nestled where it belonged against her knuckle. Proof that he had come through that horror.

"The Circle fell," he told her, drawing his thumb over the engraved band that told the world she was his. Fell. What a charming euphemism for "was torn apart from the inside by maleficar and demons". Cullen shook his head, raising his eyes to the mountains at the shore. "I saw my friends, my brothers, slaughtered. The mages who fought back against the maleficar, ripped into pieces, forcibly turned into abominations. Even the children ... novices no more than ten years old, destroyed because of the magic they bore."

Rory frowned, biting her tongue. She wanted to argue, to point out that it hadn't been magic that broke the Ferelden Circle, but the ambition for freedom and power at any cost. But even she knew that he would not take that well, forcing herself to keep still as he steeled himself to go on.

"They didn't kill me," he breathed, and now she could hear the pain in his heart. Survivor's guilt, on top of everything else. "I don't know why. They ... they let the demons torment me, torture me. Demons with her face, reaching into my head, stealing my memories ... They used her to break me. They tried to steal my mind, my memories from me. They killed her, because of me. Because I was infatuated with what I could not have, she died in anguish, not knowing why. Because I could not set aside my thoughts of her, they ... they -"

Rory twisted in his grasp, turning to reach up, gently laying her fingers against his lips to still the words that did not want to be aired. Even if she hadn't suspected what the desire demons had done to him in the tower, she would have been able to guess from what little he had said.

"Don't force yourself to say it," she told him, her voice thick with compassionate pain as she gazed into his eyes, awed by the intensity of the conflicting emotions that battled for dominance in him. "You survived."

"I didn't," he countered, shaking his head. "A part of me died in that tower, and for so long, I wished that my life had ended with it. I was ... changed. Angry. I became a templar to protect, and I failed the first test that came to me. Not merely in the loss of my brothers and sisters, in the carnage sown by Uldred and his ilk, but in my mind. They came so close ... I hated them for it. All mages, everyone touched by magic, I hated them for what had been done to me, to her. I-I tried to force my Knight-Commander's hand, to demand the Rite of Annulment." A bitter laugh left his lips. "The Hero of Ferelden called me a crazed coward. A child playing at being a man. Maker, I despised that dwarf."

He lowered his forehead to hers, his hands finding their place at her back to stroke and knead with anxious fingers as he leaned into her, needing the reassurance that she was still there. Rory tucked her fingers into the edges of his breastplate, holding him as close as she could. I'm here. Talk to me. Tell me what you need to say aloud. I won't ever say it to another being as long as I live.

"That was the first time I experienced life without lyrium since becoming a templar," he murmured, closing his eyes as her hands rose, stroking her fingertips over his cheeks, his jaw, to his temple, needing him to know she was still there, still listening. That she wasn't repulsed by what he was saying. "The pain was ... It frightened me. I was angry at mages, at magic; I twisted everything I saw to conform to my blinkered view, but ... but I was frightened. Of demons, of magic ... of experiencing that pain again. In Kirkwall, I obeyed my Knight-Commander, I trusted her ... I followed her rule despite seeing that it was wrong because ... because I was afraid she would throw me from the Order as she had done so many others."

Her breath caught in her throat. That was why? It had never occurred to her that, on top of his trauma, his pain, his anger, he had feared the loss of lyrium. Yet it made so much sense, now she heard him say it. At the most basic level, a human will do anything to survive, and templars were taught that to live without lyrium was to sentence themselves to a long, lingering death; to lose their minds and forget everything, everyone, they had never loved. For a man who had already experienced that kind of loss, who had seen brothers and sisters slaughtered at the hands of just a few of those they were meant to guard, the thought of losing his mind as well must have been horrifying. At some level, his obedience to Meredith had been about protecting himself.

"Everything I did, everything I allowed ... it was fear." His jaw set, whiskey-bright eyes opening to burn into hers with an intense flame that stole any thought of speech from her mind. "I do not want to live in fear any longer, but ... it is always with me. I can't escape it."

Unbidden, a direct quote from a movie she'd always loved back on Earth rose onto her tongue and made itself know. "Courage is not the absence of fear," she heard herself say. "But rather the judgment that something is more important than fear." She felt a gentle smile touch her lips, watching as those words sank into him. "The brave may not live forever, Cullen, but the cautious do not live at all."

A softly huffed expression of something that might almost have been a relieved laugh left his lips. "Am I living now?"

"What do you think?" she asked in turn, her hand falling to catch his from her back and draw his palm to the press of her belly between them - their child, his future in flesh and blood and bone.

His gaze lowered to where her hand pressed his to that smooth curve ... and the baby inside moved. For the first time, that movement was discernible to the father, who met her eyes with sudden tears shining in his own.

"Is that ...?"

She nodded, delighted that the baby had chosen this moment to make its presence felt to Cullen, just when he needed something more concrete than her love to hold onto. Cullen's eyes lit up in amazement, dropping once more as the tiny suggestion of pressure from within her womb made itself known against the flat of his palm. He let out a sob, a sound caught between laughter and tears, dropping to one knee to press his face against the rounded curve of her belly, wrapping his arms about her waist as he murmured to the child resting within. Her fingers curled into his hair as she felt him weep against her, feeling tears of her own well up in her eyes. At last, he had started to let go of some of those fears. Because the future, their future, needed him to. He would always be afraid, but she was certain that fear would not rule him again. Not unless he lost everything he held dear. And she was determined that would never happen again.

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shannaraisles · 7 years

Text

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 54 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: None Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

New Arrivals

Skyhold was evolving.

With the worst of the winter storms gone, the snow was easier to handle these days, and work had renewed as the sunshine began to battle through the icy temperatures. There were still plenty of accidental injuries to be dealing with, as well as a brief bout of something that might have been 'flu, but thanks to the resources Kaaras had already gathered out there in the world, the infirmary was a solid reality within a week of the storm's passing. There, at least, Rory, Evy and their staff had a warm, safe place to treat their patients, most of whom were only walking wounded. The worst of the accidents seemed to have slowed up for the time being, something they were all deeply grateful for.

First Day came and went; where some might have expected an extravagant celebration, Josephine had insisted on making the day as family-feeling as possible. The hall had been bedecked in evergreens, lit with magical light that softened the atmosphere sweetly as the Inquisition gathered within its walls to share a hearty meal among friends and family, allowed to take their time over their food, to enjoy the opportunity of being social with little pressure to return to duty for this one day.

Of course, another feast was looming in their near future, bringing with it fits of nerves and the occasional storming temper. Cullen had sent Rylen to collect the outlying cells of mages hidden in southern Ferelden, just to keep the man busy and out of his hair. The Starkhaven captain did love Evy, and he did want to marry her, but he was also deeply afraid that her family would take one look at him and run away with his little lady in the dead of night. He'd shared this view so often that Cullen had eventually decided to give him something more productive to do, a long way from Skyhold. Evy had sulked for a couple of days, but even she had to admit that it was a good thing for everyone to be free from the swirling nerves that radiated from both bride and groom.

Thus, when a yell from the courtyard announced the arrival of some special guests, no one had to deal with Captain Rylen having a heart attack at the sight of his wife-to-be racing down the swept stone steps to throw herself into the arms of her mother and father. The Trevelyans had arrived. Now all they needed was the groom himself, and the Inquisitor - who was in Emprise du Lion, doing wonderfully vicious things to red templars - and the wedding could get underway.

That, however, was a few days away, giving Evy plenty of time to spend with her parents in the meantime. It became a familiar sight to see the young woman with one or both of her parents, jabbering excitedly at them as she showed them around Skyhold and Skysend, and one that made most people smile. For all their noble blood, Bann Galen Trevelyan and Lady Edith were gracious - far more so than their Orlesian peers, it had to be said - genuinely interested in the day-to-day running of the fortress, and in their youngest daughter's new-found career as a healer. It didn't surprise Rory in the least when Evy reported for her shift three days after her parents' arrival with her mother in tow.

"I won't trouble you," Lady Edith assured her in a warm tone. "I may even be able to help - I have a little experience with nursing."

"Mama makes a potion that puts you back on your feet, no matter how ill you are," Evy gushed enthusiastically from her desk.

Lady Edith's smile was a little rueful as she met Rory's eyes, lowering her voice. "It was just winterberry juice with a little elfroot," she murmured to the senior healer in amusement. "Childhood stomach troubles are a world away from what you've taught my daughter to deal with."

Rory bit her lip to keep from smiling too widely. "I don't know if I've taught her much," she admitted with a shrug. "She's very intuitive. Most of the bandaging and poultices seem to come naturally to her. She's a born healer, my lady."

Edith seemed to swell with pride on hearing this, and it wasn't false praise. Evy really was that good. "I must confess, I never truly believed she would be suited for a life in the Chantry," the older woman said, a faintly guilty set to her expression. "Devout in her beliefs, of course, but she thrives on a certain amount of independence. Here, she has that."

"Well, she's certainly thriving," Rory agreed, nodding in agreement as she smiled. "Rylen's good for her. Her confidence has grown so much since they found each other."

"And he's a good man, this Starkhaven captain?" Edith asked, the barest hint of concern in her eyes. "I have heard he was a templar once. I did not know a man could leave the templars so young."

"With all the turmoil, my lady, I wouldn't be surprised if a great deal of men and women in our society were once templars," Rory told her gently. "Some will fall, undoubtedly, without the support from the Chantry. Those who have found a home in the Inquisition are well looked-after. Many are still dependent on lyrium, but we keep them supplied, and those who choose to stop taking it are also cared for."

"Rylen has ... not chosen to stop?" Edith asked. Rory got the impression she wasn't so much fishing for information as needing to be aware of as much as possible before she met the man who would be joining their family.

"No, he hasn't," Rory told her quietly. "But if he should, at some point in the future, Evy is aware of how the process of withdrawal goes. It's something that will take years, but the worst is the first year."

Edith tilted her head, eyeing the redhead curiously. "You speak as though you have some personal experience of this, mistress," she pointed out. "Yet you do not seem a warrior."

Rory chuckled, shaking her head. "I have never been a warrior," she admitted quite happily. "I never will be. But my husband was once a templar."

"Ah, yes, you were recently married yourself, weren't you?" Edith's expression cleared, curiosity replacing her concern. "You have my sincere congratulations. Knight-Captain Rutherford has always had the better of the reputations in the Free Marches, especially so after the fall of the Chantry in Kirkwall."

"His title is Commander, now," Rory corrected her in a gentle tone. "But thank you. Life goes on, even in the middle of war. A few weddings here and there will do more for morale than any number of inspiring speeches."

"The right speech at the right time can spur a man to do anything," Edith pointed out, but she was nodding in agreement. "Though what you say is true. A wedded man has more to fight for, perhaps, than one alone."

"Perhaps. I really couldn't say - I don't exactly see people at their best in here." Rory laughed softly at her own comment, glancing up as Evy came bustling from the back of the infirmary. "Everything under control?"

Evy flushed, smiling at having been asked such a thing in front of her mother. "Wilfrid's delirious again," she said, ever so slightly embarrassed. "I, um ... do you think it would be better to ask Luis to work with him until his fever breaks?"

Rory bit her lips to keep from snickering. Wilfrid was the loveliest old man you could ever wish to meet most of the time, but when he was feverish and delirious, he seemed to sprout eight arms and twelve hands, all of them aimed at breasts and buttocks. "That is probably a very good idea," she conceded, her smile audible even if it wasn't visible. "When Gustav comes back from the apothecaries' workshop, we can ask him to take over care for the time being."

Relief flickered over Evy's expression. She liked the work, but sometimes it was just a little too flustering for her peace of mind. "I can do that," she volunteered. "Master Tethras left a note for you this morning - I forgot to mention it. It's on your desk."

"Oh ... thank you!"

This time, Rory did laugh. She was terrible at remembering to look at her desk when she arrived in the infirmary, invariably missing some important note or other left for her. It was becoming common knowledge that if you wanted the senior healer to know about your issue, you had to catch her on her way past. Even the quickest conversation lodged somewhere in her mind; leaving a hopeful note somewhere she might see it could result in her not getting to your presentation for days.

"Lady Trevelyan, do excuse me," she apologized to Evy's mother. "I have a few things that need to be seen to. Evy is more than capable of taking you in hand if you ask her to."

Edith's smile was just a shade shy of mischievous as Evy stared at Rory in horror at the suggestion that she should tell her mother what to do. "I'm sure she is, Mistress Rutherford. Please, do not let me keep you from your work."

"Thank you."

Smiling, Rory winked at her young friend as she passed her by, side-stepping Andra to reach her own desk. Sure enough, there was a small collection of notes left there in various hands, from people who hadn't been able to guarantee catching her at some point today. She sat herself down, sorting through them.

Stitches was curious as to whether he could get hold of a stethoscope like hers; that was easily done. Dagna was toying with the idea of improving the design, but for now, they could get any of the workers who was good with wood to knock out a stethoscope in an afternoon. Apparently the orphanage was finally complete down in Skysend, and there was an invitation for her to go down see the little ones she'd helped to guide safely out of Haven at her earliest convenience. Roderick had left a request for an updated supply list; she grimaced to herself, but added her own note to that slip of parchment and impaled it on her spike for later. By the time she reached Varric's note, Evy had her mother watching closely as she changed the dressing on a visiting soldier's arm. No one noticed the surprised look of interest that crossed Rory's face as she read.

Cupcake, Three little birds in the tower right above you - one's a bit torn up. Drop by this evening if you can. Don't tell the Seeker. - Varric

Well, now, wasn't that interesting? How had Varric managed to smuggle Hawke and his companions into Skyhold without anyone noticing? She studied the little note again. One's a bit torn up. That could mean anything from a few cuts to a broken limb to internal injuries or bleeding out. She thought she could safely disregard the latter two - Varric wouldn't just leave a note if his friends were in that much danger of worse injury or death. The timing wasn't great, though ... she was going to have to tell Cullen who was here, or he wouldn't let her go out after dinner. Mind you, he might attempt to come with her whether she told him who it was or not. His interactions with Hawke in Kirkwall probably hadn't left him with the most glowing of opinions when it came to the Champion.

Still, it wasn't such a big ask. She doubted Varric would be inviting her into close quarters with Hawke and friends unless he was sure she would be in no danger from them, and despite his sometimes impossible-to-read outward appearance, she had faith that the dwarf didn't mean her any harm. It wouldn't be difficult to pick up one of the emergency packs, now refilled and ready for anything, on her way past the infirmary this evening.

Another note caught her eye as she tucked Varric's message into her belt. It was a scrap of torn parchment, the words scrawled in messy charcoal. Healer, do you like griffons? -B. Rory frowned, lifting the little note up to consider it. Who was B? And why did they want to know if she liked ... Griffons. She sniffed the slip cautiously, grimacing at the faint scent of manure. Blackwall. So why did Blackwall want to know if she liked griffons? What was he up to?

A yell went up outside, multiple voices lost in the sudden deafening rumble of collapsing masonry. Rory didn't even glance at Evy as both women shot to their feet, snatching up the packs by the door to run out of the infirmary, leaving Lady Edith behind them. The billowing cloud of dust was emanating from the door that lead down into the prisons ... the carefully built passageway that encased the stairs had collapsed on top of a couple of workers.

"Is it secure?" Rory demanded of the mason who was checking the blocks overhead at the entrance to the passage.

He was silent for a moment, but finally nodded. "Safe as it can be," he told her.

"Right." She moved to duck in through the door, and a long arm pulled her back by the waist.

"Not a chance, little red," Iron Bull rumbled quietly as she protested. "Evy, you step back there, too."

"Bull, this is our job," Rory protested, trying and failing to free herself from the strong arm keeping her from going into the still dangerous situation.

"Stitches'll do the dangerous part," Bull informed her calmly. "One new wife, one bride ... neither one of you is going down there."

As he spoke, several of the Chargers were ducking down into the passageway to retrieve the trapped workers from the rubble. Stitches tipped the two other healers a grinning salute as he stepped smartly out of sight. Rory sighed heavily.

"Bull, if this has anything to do with me being pregnant, I am going to stab you," she informed the Ben-Hassrath agent calmly.

He laughed, patting her head gently. "Try not to hit anything important when you do."

Which was as good as telling her that it was because she was pregnant. She ground her teeth together, glowering at the open doorway. All right, yes, she was pregnant, but that didn't mean that she was suddenly more precious than anyone else here. Except ... it did. While there were women who were expecting babes down in the city, she was the only one here in the fortress who was; the only one known to the inner circle, to the advisors, to the Inquisitor himself. This is going to get really annoying.

"You know what," she muttered to Evy as they waited side by side for the Chargers to bring the injured out, "the sooner you get pregnant, the better."

The Marcher woman glanced at her, and burst into giggles, nudging her shoulder fondly. "At least I'm doing things in the right order," she teased, and despite herself, Rory felt a laughing grin cover her face.

"It's not like it was planned," she protested, rolling her eyes as she shook her head. "Besides, I'm married now. If anyone asks, this kid is premature."

"Oh, yes, of course," Evy agreed with sage mischief.

Tucking her hair back behind her ear, Rory glanced away with a smile. Her gaze caught on Lady Edith, standing in the doorway of the infirmary, staring at her with what seemed like a shocked expression on her face. The older woman's eyes flickered between Rory and Evy, as though studying them, comparing them. Bemused, Rory glanced at her friend, wondering what Edith was seeing to compare there. She only saw the shared smile, her own widening at the realization that Evy was still grinning at her.

"What?" she protested.

"Oh, nothing." Evy shrugged teasingly. "Just imagining what kind of mother you'll be."

"A terrifying one," Bull offered from behind them. He grunted obligingly as Rory elbowed him, despite the fact that they both knew she hadn't made any impact at all. "A terrified one?"

"That's more accurate," Rory agreed with a chuckle.

A call from the passageway wiped the smile from her face as Grim and Dalish appeared, supporting one of the workers who had been trapped. His leg was bleeding, a rough tourniquet tied about his thigh as he limped along between the pair.

"All right, bring him to the infirmary," Evy told them, shouldering her pack. "I'll see to him, you wait for the other one," she added to Rory.

Proud of her friend for taking charge of the situation, the redhead nodded with a reassuring smile. "Will do," she agreed. "Don't forget the cobwebs once you get the bleeding under control."

"Oh, I won't forget them this time," Evy promised, moving to follow the two mercenaries as they helped the man toward the infirmary, where her own mother was waiting. Edith was about to get an insight into just how far her baby girl's confidence had come in the last six months.

It was almost a shame Rory was going to miss that, in a way, but she had work of her own to do. Within minutes, Stitches came out of the passageway, the second of the trapped workers on a makeshift stretcher, the other end carried by Krem. Rory took one look, and winced - there was very little she could do for a crushed pelvis without a very specific type of help.

"Someone run and fetch one of the mage healers, please," she asked, gesturing for the Chargers to bring the young man into the infirmary.

It was a strange process, healing with a mage, but it was certainly an educational experience. All the mage really seemed to do was focus healing energies into an injury - it was up to the conventional healer to give pain relief, pull bones straight, and hope that the internal injuries were not too severe. The focus on conventional scientific medicine in the games now made much more sense to Rory, especially since she was living it. The rather elderly mage who came when summoned had worked with her since they'd left Haven, and between them, they somehow managed to straight and rebuild the man's pelvis, forcing him through the white-hot agony of having almost paralyzed limbs moved, and joints tested, finally able to say that he would recover. He would walk again.

It was when Rory was tidying up her desk, preparing to go to dinner, that it happened.

"Aurelia?"

"Hmm?" She looked up without thinking. It was only seeing the astonished, triumphant look on Edith's face that brought home to her that she had answered to a name she hadn't heard in over a decade. How the hell does she know my real name?

Edith's smile was warm. "I thought it might be you," she said gently. "You've been missed."

"I doubt it," Rory heard herself say. What the hell is going on here? her inner fangirl was shrieking. This isn't familiar! Who said this Thedas could fill in my backstory and not tell me about it? Who does she think I am?

Lady Trevelyan's expression grew a little sad as she considered the redhead before her. "May I at least tell your mother that you are well and safe?" she asked in a wounded tone.

Rory's expression grew hunted. I have a mother here. A living mother. Who apparently knows Edith Trevelyan. Hell, Edith Trevelyan knew me somehow. This is ... awful. "As long as you don't ... tell her who I am or where to find me," she conceded warily. "There's a reason I'm not a part of her life."

Edith frowned reluctantly, but she nodded. "I understand," she said softly. "But please ... know that your aunt remembers you, and knows you for who you are. And is deeply grateful for your guidance of your youngest cousin."

She stepped away, ducking out through the door of the infirmary, leaving Rory to stare into the middle distance in a confusion of horror and shock. Did she just hear that right? If Edith Trevelyan was her aunt, then ... Holy crap. Evy's my cousin. I have family here, real family, family that I didn't write. This world has made a place for me, and it's ... Her thoughts stuttered to a halt as she realized what else it meant. Oh, my giddy aunt ... I'm a noble. How the hell did that happen?

#set in darkness #multi-chapter fic #MGiT #modern girl in thedas #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #rory allen #evy trevelyan #lady edith trevelyan #iron bull #bull's chargers #skyhold #notes #the wedding is looming #the unwritten part of her backstory is starting to make itself known

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