wickedgraceless | darilaros

Of course.

[ Despite his training, magic will always make him intrinsically uncomfortable, even as his duty is to guard it. He has no more desire to delay here than she does. ]

Ah- [ His grip tightens on her arm at the mention of Drogon- although he's not sure it's from fear or exhilaration of riding a dragon. By the maker. He pushes the thought from his mind, that should be the least of his concerns at this point. ] Of course, as you would wish it.

[ He turns his gaze back towards the strange shimmering lights overhead, following the path they twist above them. ]

I think following these will be our best bet.

[ The added pressure prompts a questioning lift of her brow, but since he doesn't look petrified, she'll accept it.

Daenerys glances up again to the trees, watching the light. It flickers, brightens and dims, with the strange appearance of fog twisting among the leaves.

Maker, just looking at it feels unnatural.

Daenerys steels herself, takes a steadying breath, and then nods ahead. ]

Just so, Commander. Lead the way.

As you wish.

[ He does take just a moment to steady himself, a single deep breath to help center himself. Her horse spooking has put them both ill at ease, but it shouldn't be enough to have him turning tail. ]

Just stick close to me.

[ He watches the light another moment- yes, they seem to be twisting away to the south. He keeps the pace steady, alert to any lurking dangers; but it seems there are none. That is, until they seem to come upon the source of the mysterious lights.

A stone structure sits alone in a clearing, dilapidated and crumbling. It appears as though it were once a church, though now it is largely in ruins. It would only be a mildly unsettling sight, were it weren't for the pillar of a haunting green light emerging from its ruined roof. ]

Well... I think we've found our source.

[ Daenerys need not be told twice to stay by Cullen's side. He is, after all, the one with the sword.

The bog continues to be as unpleasant and unwelcoming as it was at first blush, and Daenerys keeps her eyes peeled for trouble, ready to call on Drogon in an instant. The only true comfort she feels now is the distant beat of wings she can pick out in the eerie silence of the forest. She doesn't fall behind or stray from Cullen, all the way until they reach the ruins and its steady stream of light. The sickly green turns Dany's stomach, the prickling of instinct screaming for her to run.

It reminds her of the rifts in the Fade that had led her to seek alliance with the Inquisition, but this seems less like the Veil has been rent apart; it feels intentional. The ancient walls aren't crawling with demons or spirits, but the pillar of light spews forth a thick fog, slowly roiling outward across the swampbed. ]

... Yes, I would say that we have.

[ Dany's jaw is set, her posture upright and steely, but she can hear her heart thundering in her ears. ]

It... doesn't look like the rifts that can be managed by the Inquisitor's mark.

[ How he wishes their mission were simply to take note of the anomaly and leave it to someone else to manage. Unfortunately, they were the 'someone else' in this situation. Cullen lets out a soft huff of breath, setting his shoulders and resolving himself to take of this, no matter what may come. ]

Your Grace, I understand if you might feel hesitant. [ Some part of him wants to keep her away from this- this truly wasn't what they had recruited her for. This was well and truly dangerous and he wasn't supposed to be asking her to venture into it- and he was resolved to that much. ] You should wait here, I'll take a look and see what's going on.

[ Daenerys balks at the suggestion, looking up at Cullen with alarm. ]

You intend to approach on your own?

[ That isn’t reassuring. ]

Do you think that wise?

I... well, probably not.

[ There's no point in lying, and he doesn't want to put her in danger- not any more than he wants to go in alone. ]

But I would be no proper knight if I brought you into harm's way.

[ If Dany's honest, she might say that they're past the point of the potential for harm.

Whatever is responsible for the light is worth nothing but trouble. ]

Cullen. [ His given name, now. ] Either I'm with you in there, with enough time to call for Drogon, or the Commander of the Inquisition is putting himself at drastic risk without whatever small advantage I can offer.

[ As she speaks, the roiling fog thickens around their boots, the air heavier as the light weaves outward. Despite how unnerving the whole environment feels, she doesn't notice the subtle changes – like slipping into a dream at the first moment of sleep. ]

[ Cullen takes in a long breath, exhales it in a sweeping sigh. He has spent his life training to deal with magic and the ills it brings to the rest of the world, so nothing about this should particularly perturb him. It's only is present company that gives him pause, torn between wanting to ensure her utmost safety and wanting her to accompany him. ]

Very well then. [ He collects himself, seeming to stand taller now than he had a moment ago. If nothing else, he can use the drive he feels to protect her as drive to spur him forward. ] Then we will investigate this together.

[ And with that, he forces himself forward, towards the collapsing building. The magic in the air- the streams of flickering green, seem to strengthen as they approach, now crackling with life. ]

[ Daenerys resists the urge to crowd Cullen as they approach the ruins. She can't help it, when she's keenly aware of how vulnerable she is without a contingent of guards – something she and her brother did without for years, but now? Rarely does is she ever left to her own devices.

And before the Inquisition, she certainly wouldn’t be left to a swamp consumed by whatever strange Fade magic is trying to seep into the real world. The air feels like its own weight, like something is physically pushing against the Veil. She is by no means a mage, but this isn't an unfamiliar sensation; it feels like... when she sleeps.

She's seen flashes of the Black City in the far reaches of her dreams, heard the voices of dragons and Old Gods, watched as history and spirits played before her in twisted accounts of emotion and memory – so often not her own. She walked surreal paths, whatever was presented before her, and accepted it as little more than the unreality of dreams. She couldn't bend the Fade to her will, awake or asleep, but she traveled through it with little awareness of what differed so terribly from those without magic.

(Solas approached her about it once, in his polite and quizzical way. He asked her about her dreams, and as she shared bits and pieces with him, his brows only rose. He offered, "How curious,” before he seemed satisfied that she’d given him all she could.

He made vague mention that perhaps it was some expression of her family's bond with their dragons – but he had no other explanation on hand.)

Now, as the light pours into the sky, eerie clouds take the place of the gnarled forest. No longer can Daenerys hear the distant beat of Drogon's wings, and the first step on stone rather than mud seems to tilt the entire world sideways. Beyond the ruined walls, Daenerys can see a wavering in the green light, craggy rocks and disjointed pieces of a sickly realm – and so many eyes.

Breath catches in Daenerys's lungs, and she reaches instinctively for Cullen's coat as the ground beneath her feet gives way.

Her fingers close around the empty air.

The swamp goes black. ]

[ In the blink of an eye, everything changes. One moment, he's sturdy and stalwart on solid ground, preparing himself for whatever manner of creature might be waiting for them. And the next- the world seems to fall away at once, and while he whirls about to reach for Daenerys, both to grab onto her and to have something to hold onto himself, she's gone before he can even fully extend his arm.

And then... falling. Or perhaps, floating? It's hard to say either way, but darkness folds around him and leaves him weightless, lost and drifting. He can't recall if he's been like this for minutes, or years. The darkness stretches away from him in every direction, forever and a little further. What had he been doing before he became lost in this place? It's just on the edge of his mind, and then it slips away.

At least he's on solid ground now. Of course, safe in Skyhold, alone in his quarters. And he's... he was... Cullen sits in bed, alone and confused- no, confused doesn't quite describe it. His head is swimming, his stomach roiling, and in a moment he finds himself leaning over the side of the bed to retch.

That's right, he's sick. Or not sick...

Trembling hands reach for a box tucked under his bed, where bottles- most empty- clink together as he drags it onto his lap. This will be the last time, he tells himself, this time he means it. One more hit, and he'll get himself sorted out.

He tips the bottle of lyrium back, drinking deeply. There. Now his head should clear up, the shakes will stop. At least for the moment. He stashes the bottle away with the other empties, shoving the whole box back under his bed. Dizzy, he starts to pull himself out of bed- surely he's needed somewhere, surely he's meant to... to...? His legs betray him and send him sprawling back into bed.

Cullen rolls onto his side, presses his face into his hand, and groans. How had he let this happen?

[ When the world swims back into focus, Daenerys can feel earth beneath her feet – but beneath thin sandals instead of her reliable leather boots. The warm weight of her coat has vanished, her traveling dress and riding trousers forgone for a gown she's only worn in what feels like a different life. Demure, pink, and her braids foregone as her hair falls in white waves around her cheeks.

She hasn't abandoned her braids for years now – not since her marriage, not since her own victories stand behind her name.

Confused, displeased, she reaches up to brush her fingers through her curls as her other hand clenches in the thin fabric of her dress.

She feels— raw. She feels too keenly the weight of the man who dictated how she be clothed, how she be presented.

She hates it.

But just as readily as she recognizes her dreams as little more than that, she can feel that this isn't— real. She can remember the horrible bog and the sickly green light, the magic, the eyes... And, finally, the rest of the world melts into focus, and Daenerys finds herself standing along a ruined path. Everything is tinted with the same green from the swamp, and she can see the clouds above swirling on into eternity – with a looming city far in the distance. Craggy rocks float around her, water dripping down stone faces and fading into thin air, the surreal sense of unreality seeping into every inch spread before her. Dany allows herself to take it all in, until finally, she steps forward.

The world doesn't waver.

If this is a dream, she wonders, what has become of her body? Has she fallen unconscious? Has something overtaken both her and Cullen?

And then she remembers: Cullen.

Dany turns on her heel, her eyes sweeping across the ruined land. ]

Cullen?

[ The word echoes out, the sound distorted, swimming through the air like ink suspended in water. ]

Cullen?

[ The Commander's name refracts back as a small wisp of light gathers before her, leaving a bouncing ball hovering in place. ]

Cullen?

[ It repeats itself as it wobbles harmlessly in the air.

This isn't the first time Dany has come across one of the tinier, shapeless spirits. She's had the good fortune of never encountering one intent on trickery, and given her options... she finds she has little choice but to see if this wisp can give her directions. ]

Yes; Cullen. Another human, like me.

[ The wisp bobs along, like it's nodding. ]

Have you seen him?

[ Instead of a direct answer, it repeats, ]

Cullen?

[ But it starts to float away from Dany, down a rocky path leading on.

... Well, she reasons, she was going to have to start somewhere.

Dany gathers the thin skirt of her dress in both hands as she follows close behind the wisp, her gaze still sweeping across the open expanse of the Fade. She doesn't usually feel unnerved by her dreams, but this is... different. Intentional in a way she's never experienced – and one she'd very much like to leave behind, as quickly as possible.

Down the path, out of the craggy outcroppings of rock, Daenerys suddenly recognizes the familiar shape of a tower – Cullen's tower. The wisp comes to a stop in front of the appearance of cobblestones that wind up towards a door she knows too well. ]

Cullen?

[ The wisp repeats itself in its approximation of Dany's voice, and Dany takes that as the closest she'll get to encouragement. She turns a grateful smile its way, then starts up the cobblestones to the messy replication of Cullen's tower. Daenerys lets herself into the commander's office – dark, untouched, with none of the light or warmth she's come to associate with the space.

Again, she calls out, ]

Cullen? Cullen, are you here?

[ As the lyrium begins to twist through him, some of the worst of it begins to fade away. His hands no longer shake, the pain in his stomach settles, but the fog that seems to cloud his mind scarcely dissipates. Hadn't someone promised him, if it became this bad, they would... what would they do? The memory dances out his reach, and only the vague recollection of a muffled conversation surfaces.

Up. He needs to get up. Clear his head. If only the world would stop spinning for a moment. He holds his hands above his face, watching as his vision splits and doubles his fingers from five, to ten, to five. At last they come fully into focus, and he feels ready to at least sit up. Even that takes what feels like a Herculean effort, but he's managed to get himself up right again.

And then... is that a voice? He turns his head left and right, searching for the origin, finding nothing. His memories must be getting crossed again, he's remembering someone, surely, but who? Dany's voice seems to play on loop in his head, and endless reverberation of 'Cullen, Cullen, Cull... are you here... here... are you... ' A face drifts blearily into his thoughts, wreathed in flame, beautiful and powerful. He knows that face, surely.

In the end, Cullen doesn't answer her anymore than he answers the voice that repeats in his head. But it's difficult to miss the sound of him crashing to floor overhead. ]

[ Dany can't help the way she physically starts when the silence is broken by a loud "thump!" from the loft overhead. ]

Cullen?

[ She calls out again, even as she heads to the ladder. She has to hike the dress up enough that it doesn't catch on her feet as she scales each rung, until her head clears the open floor.

Oh. ]

Cullen!

[ Alarm overtakes confusion as she scurries the rest of the way up, closing the space between her and the man sprawled out on the floor.

Dany kneels beside him, reaches to set a hand on his shoulder. ]

What's happened to you?

[ Concern and sympathy bleed into her voice as her gaze sweeps over him, searching for any signs of injury. ]

[ While he is 'uninjured' he certainly will look different than she remembers. The facade of lyrium addiction has left his skin pallid and almost waxy looking, and where there once was strong musculature, his skin seems to sag. The worst change, perhaps, is in his eyes, where no matter how he tries to focus his gaze they remain glassy and far off. ]

Hm? [ He's at least aware enough to know there's someone there, and her touch sends some clarity spiraling through him, a glimmer of reality that is quickly swallowed again by the nightmare. Cullen manages to pull himself up to sit, rubbing a hand over his face. ] Oh... ah...

[ He looks at her, but doesn't seem to entirely see her. ]

Am I... late for something?

[ A meeting, maybe? Had they told him? Had they forgotten him? ]

[ This is the first Daenerys has ever encountered another person in the Fade – especially someone she knows. It's hard to feel relief having found Cullen when he looks so... wrong. Dany is especially unfamiliar with lyrium and its effects on one's body, and to her, Cullen looks ill, far removed from the strong man she stood beside in the swamp.

Dany's cool eyes search his own honey gaze for a glimmer of steadier light, solid recognition, but there's something... lost that she doesn't understand. ]

Late?

[ She repeats him, shaking her head as she reaches out to press her hand to his face – his forehead, then his cheek, like she's searching for a fever. ]

No, you've nothing to be late for.

[ She rests her palm on his jaw lightly. ]

Do you know where we are?

[ If anything, she'll find his skin a little clammy to the touch, chilled even as sweat beads on his forehead. He looks at her, or rather, through her, before screwing his eyes shut and trying to think. ]

Yes, I do- yes.

[ Though he doesn't sound particularly sure of it. There's too much to keep track of now, and the lyrium eats away at a little more with each day. And he's been falling down the hole of addiction for so long now... hasn't he? ]

Skyhold, of course. [ Cullen takes a shuddering breath, shakily trying to pull himself back to his feet. ] I should... get dressed, I think.

[ That's... well, probably the usual answer for someone unaware of their dreams.

Daenerys reaches to brace him as he tries to get up, offering him something stable amidst his trembling. ]

You look like you need to lie down, Cullen.

[ Maker, he looks like he needs a healer— no, this isn't real. She can't let herself start thinking of it as such. ]

[ Cullen practically clings to her as he stands, grateful for the assistance. It does something else for him as well, sends a hairline fracture through the delusion, not nearly enough to shake him from it, but it strikes him, only briefly, a cold air on his face.

He manages to sit himself on the bed with a groan, hunching over and burying his face in his hands. Although he is scarcely aware of her, of who she even is, he is struck by the feeling that he doesn't want her to see him this way. ]

I'm sorry. [ He manages to mumble through his hands. ] I just...need a moment.

[ Dany takes what she can of his weight, though she swears this should be more difficult; he should be more substantial. Once he manages to move from the floor to the bed, she takes a seat beside him, tucking her long hair behind her ear as she leans forward to watch his face, hidden behind his hands. ]

Take all the time you need, Commander.

[ Her voice is gentle, sympathetic instead of disdainful. Though she has no idea what beset him, she clearly doesn't find his current state worthy of shame.

She sets a warm hand on his shoulder, watching him, allowing him to collect himself.

(But she probably shouldn't. She should probably take him by the shoulders and try to physically shake sense into him, but she can't bring herself to strike out at him in any shape.) ]

What ails you?

[ Part of him wants to pull away from her touch, overwhelmed with the sense that she shouldn't sully herself with someone as tainted as him. Instead, he manages to lean into it, even as he seems to further curl in on himself. The crack widens, little by little, though still not enough to bring him back to his senses. ]

Lyrium. [ He spits out the word as though it pains him just to say it. ] I- I let this happen.

[ The immediate spike of confusion overtakes Daenerys's concern. ]

What do you mean? How has lyrium made you like this?

It... [ Doesn't she understand? He lifts his face from his hands, brows furrowed. His own confusion is muddled with the lyrium, the nightmare, by the way she doesn't understand. ] Templars. Mages. S'complicated.

[ At least, too complicated for him to explain in his current state. ]

[ He is clearly beyond grasping "complicated" right now, so Dany isn't too surprised when he can't manage to explain it to her.

(She knows mages use lyrium for their magic. She knows the templars require a supply of it, too, but she couldn't begin to explain why. The Dothraki didn't exactly think highly of mages, superstitious near to a fault.

The nearest she knew of it all was that one of the nobles who'd housed her and her brother made his fortune in the lyrium trade.) ]

All right. [ She speaks slowly, carefully. ] Then has it poisoned you?

[ Cullen shakes his head, disagreeing, before thinking better of it, and nods. After a moment, he just shrugs, as though unable to say. Poison is not entirely wrong, but it also does not fully describe it. But for someone who doesn't understand, and with himself unable to explain, it works well enough. ]

My fault. [ His voice is low and impossibly sad. ] Wasn't strong enough.

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this week was a rollercoaster, so sorry for the delay!!

welcome back!

tyty!!

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WALL O TEXT gomen

it is a lovely wall

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