entrancelogs | ☼ Arrival; ☼

Entry tags:

☼ Arrival; ☼

Who: Bethany Hawke and [open]
Where: Outside the caves!
When: Now...ish?
Rating: PG-13 for now!
Summary: Yass queen

The Story: Her head was swimming. The battle with Orsino had taken nearly all her magical power, but it was more than that -- seeing him use blood magic to take the corpses of all the mages that she’d known living and working in the circle to turn himself into an abomination -- it was too much. Too much on top of the templars and countless innocent people who had no doubt been killed when the Chantry had been obliterated. Her heart ached as if her mother and brother had died all over again. So much senseless violence because of Meredith, because of the extremist templars -- she squeezed her eyes shut and when they opened again, she was surrounded by a cave of brick icicles. What fresh hell was this?

“Garrett!” Her voice echoed hollowly in the cave and she spun, panicked. “Garrett!” What if this is some sort of last-ditch effort that Orsino learned from that horrible beast, Quentin? Was she going to be trapped in some sort of labyrinth for the rest of her (probably very short, very painful) life? She scanned the room and let out a sob of relief at the sight of the entrance to the cave, scrambling up the incline with little care for whether she was letting the barbs of once-molten stone bite into her skirts. She rushed toward the point of light, awkwardly using her staff to half-vault her toward the ever-growing gleam.

Blissfully, the Circle-mandated wear was spelled to be durable and once she made it to the sunlight, she skidded to a stop and took in her surroundings, staff at the ready.
“Show yourself!” There had to be someone here, there had to be some meaning of this that could be explained. The pain in her heart was too fresh for this to be heaven, and she had been to the Fade -- this was not it. Impatient at the lack of an answer, she slammed her staff down on the ground. A bolt of flame shoots from the spot it hits, landing nearby in an explosion of sparks.

“I don’t have time for this!” She needed to find her brother, because nothing about this place made any sense.

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Not in Kirkwall anymore. She doesn't know what to make of that statement, but the second and third -- well. Her staff drops to its neutral position, the weight of it supporting any swaying that she might be tempted to do.

"I see," she says after a moment, trying very hard to process his words. "Then if you say you mean me no harm, Ser Cullen, I believe you." And frankly -- well, she was glad to hear it. With all the bloodshed she'd seen in the past few minutes, mage and templar alike, she wasn't eager to add to either side's tide.

"But if this is indeed not Kirkwall, I -- may need a little more explanation."

Her posture eases. His stiffens at the mention of his own name, but he shoulders his shield all the same. For better or worse that one is not an issue his weapons can combat.

"Thank you," he remembers to say.

(With no other weapon at their disposal which can? Worse. Much worse.)

"This is- the name that was given to me is Wonderland. I myself only came here two months ago; there are people better equipped to speak about it from experience, but I will fill as many gaps as I can."

As efficiently as bags of sand might have closed the Breach, he should imagine.

"I said came here, but so far none I know of had much choice in the matter of their arrival. One moment they went about their business in a place familiar to them, the next they were here."

That much she can already attest to now, personally. The trouble begins where all their knowledge ends.

"Whoever or whatever is behind these abductions we cannot say, nor what purpose they're meant to serve. The magic which brought and binds us here, it goes beyond anything we've experienced - or even heard of, for that matter."

It sounds as grave as it ought to be, but there is a lot more to come, and Cullen remembers to leave room to breathe.

"This is not a safe place, but we're in no immediate danger at the time."

As distressing as all of that is, Cullen is still a templar (as far as she knows), and a man who could certainly be considered an ally of hers. She doesn't want to get on his bad side, and she's quickly regaining her normal restraint. She nods at his words, not fully absorbing them right now.

"Then I apologize," she says carefully, placing her staff back in its sling since he's done the same to his shield, "For my hastiness. I was in the middle of something rather dangerous in Kirkwall, and was expecting the same here."

That was vague enough an explanation for now, since this man is saying he's been here for two months even though she would swear on her mother's grave that she saw him not a half-hour ago.

"How many people have been abducted like this?" Certainly enough people disappeared in Kirkwall and nobody batted an eye -- she supposed it was possible.

"Dozens at the moment. How many over time I cannot say. Many from across Thedas, but--"

But. This was never a simple conversation to begin with, but they are about to leave 'simple' behind as far as conceivable. He remembers what else she said, and hopes that the words might find him better on that path.

"There's no need for apologies. I did not fare better when I arrived, I suspect many did not. Not to mention what you left behind in Kirkwall-- This execution, did Meredith invoke the Right of Annulment?"

Cullen ought to have asked from the beginning. No matter how clearly it stands out in his mind, it was hardly the only time a mage found death at her command. The only surprise is a voice which could sway her verdict. Perhaps he was wrong? Perhaps she comes from the early years, when Meredith yet spoke sense.

He watches her expression carefully. This must seem a strange question, whether he is right or wrong.

From across Thedas. Well, at least the odds were good between Ferelden and Kirkwall that she might find some familiar faces. She purses her lips the moment that he asks about the circumstances of Kirkwall at the time of her arrival here, and perhaps that was answer enough -- but not answering would be rude, wouldn't it?

"...she did, yes. After First Enchanter Orsino..." she trails off for a moment, trying hard to keep a stiff upper lip despite the man's fresh death, "Was driven to extreme measures." Yes, that would do as an explanation. Saying that he had used blood magic to turn himself into a horrific creature using the bodies of his former pupils wasn't something she could stomach just now.

"It was Garrett who kept me from that fate." Yet another moment in time where her brother had saved her from something her magic had caused, however indirectly. She swallows thickly.

It started at the golden image of her, and became only clearer during their encounter. A familiarity in her features that he couldn't shake, and now the name. A delayed reaction, for all the use it is denied when the words are only ever Champion or Hawke instead. But Carver mentioned it. The reports mentioned it. Cullen knows it. To make it into a coincidence, even here, seems highly unlikely.

Then it is her. Unknowingly he mimics it, unease forced back down his throat with a swallow. Bethany Hawke, long departed from the Thedas he knows.

"There is... more that you must know, but. This will be difficult."

For her to hear, he means to imply, but Maker's breath, for him no less. He's not had to explain before, and he feels poorly equipped to do so now. Cullen rubs the bridge of his nose, and stifles a quiet groan.

"You called me by name, my name, but the truth is that I've not met you before in my entire life. Nor-- Nor you me, arguably."

Even though the recognition is there, even though he cannot say how closely the man she knows does or does not resemble him. It matters little, this is hardly about him - only the point where he can think to begin his explanation.

Bethany likes to believe that she is not quite as arrogant as Garrett, nor quite so quick to draw conclusions or raise her weapon -- but the idea that someone who she had such clear and lengthy memories of saying that he hasn't even made her acquaintance makes even less sense than showing up in this place without any prior warning.

He had said it would be difficult for her to hear. She crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly more vulnerable than she would like to admit, and steels herself with a slow breath inward. She nods, tight and carefully restrained.

"Whatever it is that you don't remember, or -- as you say, have not experienced," she is deliberate with her words, studying his face for signs that anything she says is getting through to him, "I am certain some part of you must be the same as the man who I knew. Your words when I approached showed reason, just as they did when you went against Meredith's insanity." Even though the smile that crosses her lips is forced, it is genuine. "The essence of a man hardly changes."

She takes in another breath, though, reminding herself now is not the time to dwell on how kindly or not he may have treated her. "But ... do go on."

The essence of a man hardly changes, can be comfort or knife to the heart, depending on what that man thinks his essence might be. For now hearing that he did not stand by Meredith's side in the end will need to be enough. For now knowing that his priority is to brief Bethany will be enough.

"I remember the events," he says, to clarify as much as to protect his sanity from having her think he might be without. "Clear as day, with a- difference."

Small, he almost says, before he sees the cruelty in the word. Before he realises that he has no idea how to inform the living of their death, a death which is no sentence to be carried out, but a fact long and immutably recognised in the past.

"This place, Wonderland- something or somebody in it abducts people, takes them from their world. Not just Thedas, but other places as well, places so foreign they couldn't possibly linger beyond the edges of our maps. And most strangely--"

Inhale.

"Not all people who know Thedas remember it the same. Historic events, points in time, people, it- often doesn't add up." A beat. "I remember Kirkwall, and Meredith's madness. I remember what she--" No. "What we did at the Gallows, just as I remember the city's Champion, I remember Hawke."

Exhale.

"And his brother, Carver."

There were theories enough of the dangers of time magic in the many tomes that laid in the Circle tower, though most were careful to mention the blasphemous idea of multiple states of a world in only a passing and joking manner so as to avoid being burned by Templars before their publication. The longer that Cullen carries on with his explanation, the more it seems to be much more than a joke.

She thinks back to the day that Carver died. A split-second sooner, a split second later -- and it could have been any of them that had died at the hand of that creature, and not her brother. How many nights had she laid awake wondering whether Carver's death could have been prevented by her? The idea that it could have been -- whether it would've been by her hand, or by someone else's -- guts her in a way that's almost visible. She sucks in a sharp breath, thinking, and then says very quietly, "And how did they fare? Were they both well, when last you saw them?"

When she had been a child, and even just before finally being taken to the Circle, she'd wondered if her removal from their family might not be a small blessing. No longer hiding an apostate so much earlier in their lives would've relieved some of the stress from her mother, and from Garrett.

The question itself ought to be simple enough, but under such circumstances, is anything, truly? If he starts to wonder what he should and should not say, then he will never speak another word again.

"Alive and well, despite Kirkwall," he ventures. "They made it to the Free Marches years ago, they- I cannot speak for your experience in the city, but it sounds as though some of its history remains unchanged." The last straw of Meredith's madness, to begin with. Who knows what else? "They've both done Kirkwall a great service, uh... you- you would be proud of them."

Would she? The comfort is not empty, he thinks at least the importance of their deeds the truth, but is that what she would hear? He remembers a letter in his hands, the first after so many years. Words of incredulous anger, and so much more. Back then he wished he could have told Mia something like this in return.

"...If you would care to speak more, we can- I can show you around the mansion, if you would like."

She'd often thought that Carver would've felt the same way about Kirkwall as she had, in some ways -- that it was at least a place where he could perhaps stay for a little while, and establish some roots. From what Cullen was saying, perhaps he had found a way to prove to himself that he was just as good as their brother. His words bring a smile to her lips, however brief.

"I would expect nothing less from either of them, but I am glad to hear that it is the same in the place you're from." And it also serves to reinforce her point about the essence of a man being unchanged, maybe. As much as she does want to explore the place, she's feeling -- well, to be honest, a bit overwhelmed and exhausted with the prospect of being trapped in a place like this.

"I may have to take you up on your offer at a later date. I'm afraid I'm a bit exhausted just thinking about this place right now. Is there a place I might be able to just -- sit and rest?"

"Of course. Benches in the gardens, just outside the mansion."

Not too far from where her image appeared to them in gold, and boldly played its scene of infatuation. For a panicked second Cullen wonders about the odds of it reemerging for her to see, and he swallows down a nervous breath. Aiding as best as he could with her arrival took his mind off of the memory, but now the reminder flushes back to his cheeks, and he turns his head, hoping that the warmth is not so plain to see.

He clears his throat.

"There, ah. There is a library inside, as well. Quite grand, if-- You would prefer distraction, or..." What else? "Each floor has several tea rooms set aside. Most are rarely used, they should provide some privacy for a time."

Or the illusion thereof, but he doesn't say. Nor does he yet mention their rooms, beckoning them to stay, ready to change at their wish and will, furthering the false sense of hospitality.

Fortunately for Cullen, Bethany is far too wrapped up in her arrival to notice that he might be a bit pinker than he was when he first came to assist her. It seems there is no shortage of places that she will be able to take solitary refuge, though she knows that if she heads to the library now she will not be resting. The idea of devouring the knowledge available here is a tempting one, but one for when she is better-rested.

She manages a faint smile, nodding along with his words.

"Perhaps I will take in the gardens and work my way up to the building itself." Intriguing as the concept of the place is, the fact that it's terrifying looms over it like a dread cloud. She glances back to Cullen.

"After all, I'm sure you have better things to do than escort me all afternoon."

"Unfortunately I don't."

A beat.

(It was a perfectly reasonable sentiment, until he said it out loud.)

A beat.

Sweet Andraste, preserve him.

"I, ahh. Ah, Maker. Only meant to say that. We have, unfortunately, few to no leads to pursue. About Wonderland's nature. So far, and. None of them pressing."

He clears his throat.

"Because I would be happy to--"

He clears his throat again. It does nothing to cleanse the embarrassment. But he straightens his back, and mercifully recovers his train of thought.

"I will leave you to settle in, in peace. My room is the third on the first floor, if you have further need of me."

His heel digs into the earth, half a turn away from hurriedly departing on a composed note, but Cullen stops himself. The golden images are a moment's distraction, but in truth their entire encounter is... is something that will take time to settle in. Not a spirit, nor some abominable deception. Simply a woman whose path has been more fortunate than the one his world knows. He swallows, smiling weakly.

"The circumstances aren't mutual, but... it has been good to meet you, Bethany."

If they had been in less confusing and overwhelming circumstances, the way he was fumbling might make her laugh. As it is, she can understand why it is that he would be saddened that he did not have leads to follow, threads to unravel this place's mysteries. In fact, it's something of a relief to know that he reacted in much the same way she'd have expected the Cullen of her world to react. Not so different after all, perhaps.

She nods, then, dipping her head in a brief bow.

"And you, Ser Knight. I will be sure to check in with you and let you know how I am adjusting to -- this place."

He halts briefly, in the moment where there is entirely too much left to say, and no thread to lead the words neatly. There will be time, later. If they are unfortunate, then their prison will leave ample time, later.

"See that you do." A hope, rather than an instruction. Cullen nods back. "Maker be with you."

Then he turns, and leaves for the mansion.

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☼ Arrival; ☼

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