Moments

Moment of Choice - Part 6

"I will not listen to you! You have no hold here...Leave me!"

Cullen's whimpers shattered the black air beside my ear. Normally, I'd sleep through most of them; a lifetime in the forest taught me when to wake from a twig crack and when to slumber through an aravel crash. But I'd lain awake most of the night, trying to not roll enough to wake him while I watched the silvery moonlight shift through the open balcony. Every time I tried to not think of my mother, the anchor, the assassins, or the decision weighing upon my heart all my mind could dig up was an old story Cassandra told us. It was early in the Inquisition days, before she came to trust me with more than a bow to fend off demons, while Varric and Solas - both strangers then - huddled beside a fire listening to the night cries of nature.

Cassandra screwed up her shoulders as if she'd been planning this for sometime. With her signature curt tone, she announced to the silent camp, "I am reminded of a tale. There was a scorpion that needed to cross a river, only it could not swim. So it enlisted the aid of a bear...yes, a bear, to help both of them cross. The bear refused at first, concerned of the scorpion's sting, but the scorpion promised that it would not cause harm. Eventually, the bear relented, carrying the scorpion through the river upon its back. But midway through, the scorpion broke its word and stung the bear. Except its stinger could not get through the fur. That seems right. Having walked back its promise, the bear cracked open the scorpion's skeleton and consumed its flesh."

The ragged edges of her tale flapped in the wind, all of us slightly terrified to inform the Seeker about the bits she got wrong. It was Varric of all people who threw a leaf into the fire and said, "Not bad, you should tell the one about the goose that lays sour grapes next."

Goose grapes became our code for an un-winnable situation. A fade rift spitting out three despair demons and a pride one as well: goose grapes, at least until we came running back with a fire mage and a few dozen more soldiers. This whole thing was goose grapes the moment my clan appeared. Go, stay, make a difference here or there. No matter what decision I made, someone got hurt.

My fingers thrummed against the bed, inches beside Cullen's face. In the slivers of moonlight I could see only a trace of his pale skin falling slack to slumber as the nightmare faded to the recesses of his memory. It would return, bringing even more pain with it -- a lifetime left struggling with the horrors blood mages stirred in his mind. Occasionally, after a bad turn I'd catch him staring at me with pain coursing behind his eyes, regret and blame that by being together he'd passed his own curse onto me. There would be long nights and long days where he'd turn inward, anger and pain stewing together behind his brow until the pressure would finally break and he'd return.

I hadn't thought much of the future. There was surviving the breach, closing the breach, surviving Corypheus, gathering allies to stop him, and finally sending that bastard back to whatever cursed beast created him. Every heartbeat was for the moment, I could ill afford to daydream some far flung future when so much rested upon my shoulders. But now...

Cullen snorted, his mouth curling into a sneer, but he didn't return to his Templar days. "Damn it, dwarf!" he cursed - most likely blaming Varric for something. A smile at his impotent frustration curled up from my gut. I ran the lightest touch along his hand digging into the mattress.

"I want to be with you," I whispered. It was unlikely he heard me, but his sneer fell away as sleep whisked him deeper into the fade. "I just don't know how to do it," I sighed, glancing around the blackened room. The moon had moved nearly the entire lengths of the sky; the sun should return soon, and I was unlikely to find a moments rest before.

Giving up on the night long battle, I slid out of bed and rustled through my piles of clothing always wadded at the edge. I began to slide on the leather pants, when I paused. What I needed was solitude, proper solitude, not to have a dozen people watching from just in the distance, waiting so they could pepper me with questions and concerns. Bypassing the leather pajamas, I picked up my armor. The jangle of the mail caused Cullen to twist, his naked body flipping to the other side, but he didn't rise.