wickedgraceless | darilaros

darilaros

[ In the ever changing tides of war, Cullen is not one to complain at an assignment. Even when that assignment brings them to a deep, untouched bog, one covered in a thicket in trees that seem nearly impenetrable. He has to wonder why Daenerys was even asked to join him on this particular mission, given that the heavy overhead of thick, damp trees seem impervious even to her dragon's flames.

But here they are, trudging through it all the same, searching for the dark magic that has seemed to be spreading throughout the neighboring countrysides. The entire place gives him an uneasy feeling, and he has not yet been able to shake the idea that they're being watched. Still, he presses on, sword in hand, wading his way through the swamp. ]

I think, if we are able to get to the center of it, we might be able to get some sense of things.

[ Admittedly, that's only a guess, but it seems just as likely a place to find answers as any. Granted, he's not entirely sure they're successfully navigating towards the center- but he sure hopes he's correct.

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[ 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.

[ Oh.

Daenerys has never heard Cullen sound so... heartbroken. Her own chest feels tight, like some great fist has taken hold of her heart in an iron grip, and the desperate desire to sweep it all away fills her to the brim. ]

Cullen...

[ Her hand moves to brush his hair away from his clammy forehead, smoothing back the messy curls. ]

Whatever this is – sickness or poison – of course it's not your fault. There's no weakness in being unwell.

[ How she wishes she could understand that it is his fault, caused by his own failing and weakness. What he deserves is to be put out of his own misery, not to have her comforting him like this. And yet he leans into again, eagerly, for it again lets his mind just briefly crest above the waves of this nightmare, before it sinks back down again. ]

Sorry. [ He mumbles under his breath. ] Just sorry, is all.

[ Dany leans against him, winding her arm around his shoulders, turning her forehead to press against his temple. ]

Don't apologize.

[ She says it quietly, but firm. ]

Don't, because—

[ —because it's not real.

Something jolts through Dany as the reminder hits her like lightning.

It's a dream. It's an illusion.

You have to get out.

Daenerys withdraws her arm, straightening up and tugging at Cullen's shoulder to encourage him to do the same. ]

Here, look at me.

[ She reaches out to cradle his face in her palms, trying to steady him away from the wavering unease. ]

I need you to do this for me, all right?

[ The sudden change disorients him further, but the feel of her hands against his face brings about a sense of calm. He lifts a shaky hand to grasp one of her wrists, and for the first time it seems as though he actually sees here, even if so much still remains confused. ]

You need...? [ He starts to repeat her, feeling suddenly that he does know, or should know her or- ] I... don't know. I'll try.

Good.

[ The praise is warm, if nothing else.

Her hands stay firmly curled around his jaw, her eyes fixed on his, a hopeful anchor in the storm of the Fade's sinking claws. ]

Can you think back to before this moment? Do you remember leaving Skyhold with me?

With you?

[ How can that be possible? He has been confined to his room for ages, and he's not even sure who she is. How could he possibly remember? But the continued contact with her seems to fight further against the pull of the Fade, and something flashes in his eyes. ]

Daenerys. [ He says suddenly with a gasping breath. It is the first time he's addressed her directly by her name, and under other circumstances, he might have been a bit embarrassed by that. But instead it serves as another beacon to guide his memories back. ] We- We were... the Inquisitor...

[ Her name – not her title.

The recognition she can see in those glassy eyes is instantly heartening, and she nods quickly, smoothing a thumb across Cullen's scruffy cheek. ]

Yes. Yes, we went south because the Inquisitor had other obligations. Do you remember that awful swamp?

I... [ By the Maker, he wants to remember. The feeling over her thumb moving over his face helps, slowly but surely reality seems to seep back into him. As it does his appearance begins to change ever so slightly, the bags beneath his eyes fading, his sunken cheeks slowly swelling. ] Y-yes. I do. You... you lost your horse.

[ It's the first thing he's managed to recall on his own, and yet it sends a look of fear across his face. ]

What is this? What's happening?

Yes, yes, that's right.

[ The change is slow but notable, when he'd looked so startlingly different. Dany nods again, eager, though she can see the uncertainty giving way to fright.

She can't blame him, especially for someone unaccustomed to knowingly walking through dreams. She keeps her tone level and calm, though she can feel her own fear prickling along the edges of awareness, that reminder that she feels lost and vulnerable, that she has no idea how to get out. ]

The magic we found – it put us here. This is... the Fade.

[ She gestures up to the hole in his ceiling, where the illusion beyond the tower has given way to the sickly green skies, the swirling of clouds, the distant Black City – and the Breach, beyond it all. ]

The fade?

[ His gaze follows her gesture upward, where indeed the dark clouds twist overhead. This seems to further shake him free of the nightmare's influence, and for the first time his mind begins to feel clear. ]

It... oh Maker. [ This is quite a lot of trouble, isn't it. But at least it's the sort of trouble they can maybe- hopefully- escape from. Not quite fully back to his true self, Cullen still seems to cling to her. ] How did this- we were just-

[ He inhales sharply as a sudden pain shoots through him. ]

We need to go.

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WALL O TEXT gomen

it is a lovely wall

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