entrancelogs | [OPEN]

Entry tags:

[OPEN]

Who: Nathaniel & YOU
Where: In the grounds
When: Far too early in the morning (4am - 6am), April 1st
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Nathaniel finds his way outside with a rudimentary archery target and a couple of lanterns. In the dark.

The Story:

He found it chilly when he stepped outdoors, but not enough to make him shiver. The cool air prickled through his clothing and nipped at his fingers for a few minutes before the mild exertion of walking warmed his blood enough to drive it off.

Carrying a large, round archery target under one arm and two lanterns in his hand, he moved far enough from the mansion to not be too much at risk of hitting anyone with a stray arrow (though close enough to be seen should someone peek out of the door or glance through a window) and carefully hung the target on the lowest bough of a tree. Beneath it and slightly behind, he set one lantern, retreating with the other and putting it down by his feet some three hundred yards away from his target.

THUNK

The first arrow hit with a satisfying sound and swung the target back, making the tree branch bob up and down.

He could be found there for the next couple of hours, long after the sky began to turn light and the lanterns became little more than ornaments. He paused briefly to turn them off when they were no longer needed, setting them together not far from where he stood. Almost anyone venturing near would find themselves easily spotted, the bow in his hand lowered and a small nod given to allow them to pass without danger.

[while Nathaniel is not overtly affected by the event in this post, I welcome anyone who is :D]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Good. Good, he stopped moving. Nathaniel allows the tiniest fraction of tension to ease out of his shoulders as he crosses to the earlier indicated cabinet and pulls it open. A quick glance back to the templar has his brow furrowing deeper - he should have been quicker in keeping the man from removing that arrow. He can only hope that Anders doesn't idle out of some kind of misdirected spite.

When he returns with a couple of poultices in hand, a thought intrudes abruptly on his concern.

"I saw you at Kirkwall," he says. One templar can look much the same as another until you see them alone. He's sure he knows this one. It's with some measure of care that he eases Cullen's hand away to check the measure of the bleeding, only to just as quickly press it back again. "Do not move your hand."

The words spin dully in his head for a moment, before their meaning settles in. Cullen opens his eyes. Familiar features, didn't he think so? But the city that should narrow his options was chaos, and the face still brings him no memories. The arrow, on the other hand--

--flies past his head, and he thinks it was the statue whose blow he dodged, until the very same topples, knees slamming violently into the ground. Pulsing red lyrium gives the statues their unholy life, but its veins crack the metal as well. That is where they must seize their chance to strike. That is where an arrow protrudes from the bronze monster, crack turned to debilitating gap by the sheer precision of it. He remembers his surprise, because it could not have come from Varric's direction. He remembers risking a glance over his shoulder. He remembers...

He doesn't remember his name. Fleeting introductions after the battle, and too much to take up his focus in the aftermath. Too much to blur it, now. Grey Warden? He groans as he presses down on the wounds again, and mumbles some vague compliance with Nathaniel's order. --Nathaniel?

"...Nathaniel? At the battle, you- you were a fine shot."

Cullen laughs at that. Cullen... thinks he meant to laugh at that, but he can hear no such sound, so somewhere he must have forgotten to follow through.

"All right, I'm here. I don't know why I'm here, but I'm here--"

Anders' tired mumbling announces his arrival to the clinic. He walks in still adjusting the clothes he'd hastily thrown on, blinking under the clinic's harsh fluorescent lighting, but when he sees who's there, he stops.

Nathaniel is there as promised, but much to Anders' eternal surprise, so is an injured person covered in blood. When Nathaniel had said to come downstairs because he'd shot someone, Anders hadn't known what to expect--but he hadn't really believed Nathaniel was serious about that part.

The identity of the injured party is even more of a shock.

"Nathaniel! You really shot Cullen!?" His mouth falls open. "Maker, I was only joking when I said that..."

Unbidden, a swell of something resembling fond surprise steals the rest of the words. He looks at his fellow Warden with a peculiar look of one deeply affected by some grand gesture they're only just starting to process.

"Did you shoot him because of me?" he says, hushed now, approaching Nathaniel as if about to take him by the shoulder.

He takes every breath cautiously now, feels the lead pull down his eyelids, and for the first time in days thinks how wonderful it would be to just sleep. So you mustn't, he tells himself sluggishly, a reminder to keep his eyes open all the wider, the more he wishes for them to be shut. His draining focus rests entirely on the other man, when a sound comes from elsewhere in the room. Nathaniel, Cullen called him, and waited to see if he remembered it right. Nathaniel, the sound echoes, neither of their voices, and Cullen turns his head towards it--

And groans loudly in frustration. The sound of an opening door gave life to a small piece of hope, that one of the clinic's healers might have returned to their duties. The sight of Anders crushes that fledgling hope in cold blood.

The best Cullen can say for the scenario is that he had anticipated it, that he would endure until Anders has refused him and left, so the archer might acknowledge that other measures were required. Poultices. Thread. Hot iron, better hands to help- anything other than a mage that would much rather see him bleed out the last of his life than move a finger to preserve it. All he prays is that Nathaniel comes to grasp the futility of relying on the healer's help soon and quickly--

Unless he already knew from the start.

The gestures and words only come to him in fragments, quiet and dull and further away than they ought to be. Really shot him. What if both their nightly practices were no coincidence at all, if it was not carelessness on his, but careful deliberation on the part of another? Shot him because of Anders. If fetching a healer was no reassurance or token of innocence, only a gift to the healer, who'd wish to see the outcome on a silver platter.

This is irrational, a quiet voice tries to reassure him, but something inside him refuses to let the fleeting suspicion go. Feeds it instead, until it grows hooks to sink into his mind, the pain of his wound and humiliation of such a betrayal stirring a flare of disbelieving rage.

Before he knows it, Cullen is back on his feet. Back against the wall, snarling at the both of them, drawn sword in his hand impossibly heavy to hold. He mustn't hope for his victory. Only for enough strength to sour theirs.

Edited 2016-04-10 09:09 (UTC)

He really thought he'd managed to get through to the Templar, but those ingrained prejudices run deep, it seems, if this is going to be the immediate reaction to a mage walking into the room. Anders' flippant request for Nathaniel to shoot the man not long ago had given him some inkling that things weren't entirely rosy between the two of them, but this was just verging on hysterically ridiculous.

"Honestly?" Nathaniel blurts out in utter disbelief, not even moving to reach for the small dagger concealed on his person. He looks to Anders with something akin to aggravated helplessness. "He keeps doing this. I think he actually wants to bleed to death."

Given the mess currently all over the floor, which Nathaniel is finding ever so subtly distressing, it doesn't look like it's going to be long until Cullen passes out from blood loss anyway.

"Can you knock him out? Gently."

"I can't believe this," Anders is still saying, lost to what else is going on. He puts hand on Nathaniel's shoulder and shakes his head in disbelief. "I didn't mean it, but if this is because of what I said..."

It's unfortunate for a man to be shot with an arrow, of course. Bad. Very bad. Cullen probably hadn't deserved it unless he'd been threatening someone's life at the time. But still... If Nathaniel had roughed up a templar on his behalf--even a one-time templar--he doesn't know what to say. The Warden Commander had taken a huge gamble drawing a line against the templars, and it's an act of loyalty and kindness he may never be able to fully repay.

Would Nathaniel stand up against the templars like that as well? He wouldn't have been sure ten minutes ago. Perhaps he'd misjudged the man...

Distracted by his newfound regard for the Warden at this side, he doesn't notice the injured party in their midst staggering to his feet until Nathaniel reacts. He turns his head to see Cullen turning fifty shades of white with his sword raised at the two of them. Clearly Cullen still has some life left in him. Anders won't feel too bad for ignoring the state he's in for a few moments.

"You want me to use a spell?" He sounds doubtful.

Cullen holds an unusual position on Anders' moral map. On the one hand, he's wounded and Anders isn't one to deny someone aid if they're not a pressing enemy. But on the other hand, how hard is he supposed to try to help an ex-templar who doesn't want help? A little? A lot and subsequently put himself in reach of that sword? A little sounds better. After consulting his conscience, Anders decides he can live with a little.

Cullen expects the attack to come right away, hopes he can keep himself awake by jumping into the fray. It doesn't happen, and he curses their caution. Tries to make out the words they're exchanging, but the sound has grown almost impossibly dull. If they wait to strike--

Spell, he thinks he hears one of them say, and Maker, where are his wits? Two against one he may face, but Cullen can at least divest one of them of his main weapon. Years of training have made the required focus second nature to him, but the recent drought in his veins and the fog clouding his mind make such concentration difficult to grasp at. He tries, regardless, to force the bright light that would silence the mage's powers, and somehow his back aches from the effort and he hears a ring like the clattering of metal, but he... but he...

Can't? Cullen can't see them anymore, instead he finds himself looking at lights above, the colour of the ceiling, and why can't he feel the sword in his grip anymore? He reaches for it hurriedly, in his mind, rolls to the side and pushes himself up on his knees, a swift strike at the both of them before it is too late, in his mind. Only in his mind.

In the clinic as it stands in truth, Cullen lies on his back on the floor, half-lidded eyes without focus, the last of his consciousness flowing from him in sluggish red.

"Would you stop?" Nathaniel snaps at the mage, half an eye on the Templar despite not.. really viewing him as any real kind of threat at the moment. He bats Anders' hand off of his shoulder in irritation. "It was an accident."

Not that he wouldn't shoot a Templar for Anders' sake, no matter what Anders might think, but he wouldn't do it for no reason and certainly not because he had just been asked to. They would have to have a talk about just how far Nathaniel was willing to go for the sake of friendship.

"Yes, I want you to use a spell, before he actually--" The clatter of the sword on the ground catches his attention and he turns sharply from Anders to step over, catch the blade with his foot and move it out of Cullen's reach. Much safer, even if the man looks in no state to be trying to get up again anyway.

"Faints, apparently. Never mind. Now will you do something? Preferably before he doesn't have any blood left."

Edited (didn't like repeating a phrase 8|) 2016-04-14 13:35 (UTC)

"... Oh."

The warm and fuzzies drain out of Anders as quickly as consciousness drains out of Cullen. He retrieves his hand, looking decidedly less appreciative.

"He just happened to be walking by as you fired off an arrow?"

Someone on high is smiling down on Anders, even if it's not Nathaniel... and it's not actually worth smiling about. The coincidence is too great not to at least appreciate the timing of it on a cosmic scale.

Now that Anders has been set straight, he sighs wearily at the man floundering on the floor like a fish out of water. Cullen's movements slow, then finally he flops over. Anders waits for the alarm to set in, for bells in his head to start clanging urgently. They don't. There's a rumble from the corner where his sense of moral obligation resides, but the corner with his enthusiasm is noticeably silent. "It's better this way. He can't blame me for using sleeping spells on him later."

He steps around to Cullen's wounded side and rubs his hands together, resigned to the task.

"I'm only doing this because I need to know how he managed to walk in front of an arrow. He's going to owe me for this. Me saving the life of a templar, tch! Who'd believe it." He spreads his hands, now aglow with magic, over Cullen's body. With the arrow shaft out, it's a simple enough process to start healing the damage left by it.

Edited 2016-04-15 05:15 (UTC)

Cullen fights the darkness around him, unmoving limbs still thrashing furiously in his mind, still tearing and sifting through the black nothing that claws at his thoughts, desperate to grasp a thread of light to pull him back. They come up empty for too long. Bleakly he thinks that this, this is how it ends. Not with his brothers at the Tower, not with his Order at the Gallows. Nor with his soldiers at Haven, but instead here. Alone with his carelessness, and little more than a feeling of--

...of warmth? Is this it, to be called to the Maker's side? To feel your pain washed away, and hear your own breath of relief? To know that you are filled with light, before you even open your eyes to see? To wake up beyond the mortal word to--

--stiff limbs, a throbbing head and ice cold nausea, and the blurred vision of something which looks remarkably like a certain blighted Warden mage. Cullen lets out a frustrated groan.

Passing out of the world, in that Void shall they wander;
O unrepentant, faithless, treacherous,
They who are judged and found wanting
Shall know forever the loss of the Maker's love.
Only Our Lady shall weep for them.

Who'd believe it, indeed. He steps closer to watch - mostly out of curiosity, magic doesn't bother him too much in the hands of someone he trusts - and briefly touches the mages' shoulder while he works. They'd got there in the end, even if it had taken longer than he would have liked.

"Thank you, Anders," he says quietly, then lets his hand drop loose to his side. His attention goes up to Cullen's face, a kind of satisfaction there as the Templar begins to stir.

"If you hadn't made such a blighted fuss, you wouldn't be in this situation," he points out as Cullen opens his eyes. "There really is no excuse for that kind of carrying on."

"Don't thank me yet," he says tartly. "You owe me, too."

Once satisfied that the wound is closed and that the spell had done its job, he rests his weight on his heels. Silly though it may be, he's still a little disappointed mere coincidence is what had brought him here. But if it hadn't, he wouldn't have gotten to see one of Kinloch Hold's templars lose a fight with gravity and fall to the floor in a puddle of his own blood.

Worth it.

The glow of magic fades from his hands. He extends one over the groaning man's face and snaps his fingers a few times, saying, "Wakey wakey. That's twice you've been sleeping on the job. Can you hear us?"

Odd, Cullen thinks to himself. He wakes up cold, but it goes deeper than pale skin. The frantic urgency of his actions before, gone. The furious suspicion, gone. He sits up silently, and stares between Anders and his blood-stained torso. Slides a hand under his shirt to feel the closed wound - as if the fact that he is conscious and drawing breath was not indication enough.

This... is not the outcome he expected. He should think this incredulous, shouldn't he? Baffling? Rather than... merely unexpected.

"I should have kept my composure," he concedes dully, and looks up at Nathaniel as he rises to his feet. Weakly, but he disregards the lightness that fills his head. Embarrassment and shame linger in the distance, but they don't reach him. Little seems to, suddenly.

Cullen looks at Anders intently.

"You saved me. Why?"

"You really should, you know," the rogue says, leaning down to lift Cullen's sword up off the ground. He examines it briefly then offers it back to the Templar, hilt forwards and the blade held gently on his hands. All of that nonsense, and for what? He gives Anders a quick glance, and he has to wonder just what the mage did to this particular Templar... unless this was just your run of the mill Templar paranoia mixed with the shock of being shot.

"Why would he not save you," he continues, loosely folding his arms once he's been relieved of the sword. "You must have missed the notice that said 'mages are people too'."

Nathaniel did have his own ideas about Anders' particular moral compass, but he'd had full faith in the fact that he would not let an innocent person die, even if that person was a Templar.

"You know, rather than mindless abominations with no sense of a conscience."

The templar's talking and he can pull himself out of his puddle of blood. That's good enough. Anders moves back a little, feeling his job is done now that Nathaniel is in no danger of having committed a mid-morning murder.

Though surely they could've kept a hold of Cullen's sword a little longer, just to be sure he wasn't going to try using it again. Just a little longer.

Surprisingly, Nathaniel answers Cullen's disbelieving question before he can and Anders looks at the other Warden sidelong, arms folded across his chest. Okay, so Nathaniel may not have attacked someone unprovoked in his honor, but it's still a nice gesture for the man to assume Anders has some principles regarding standing by and letting people bleed out on his shoes.

... Then he gets to the abomination part. That sort of tarnishes the sentiment.

Suppressing a wince, Anders tosses out a lofty reply, hoping to squelch this line of talk before it can really start. "Chalk it up as one of life's mysteries. Don't question it," he answers Cullen. Then he flicks his gaze from one man to the other. "But I'd sure like to know how Nathaniel here drew first blood before the sun was even up."

Cullen sheathes the sword as soon as it is offered. The wound is sealed, but he is still keenly aware of how much it drained from him, not least of all because the clinic's floor bears crimson-smudged witness to it. He wonders if there is an easy opportunity to sit or support himself somewhere, and decides that there is not. He still stands, he can keep standing longer.

"Rather than that," Cullen repeats with a dull laugh. Anders' question has a simple, if not pleasant, answer, but it is Nathaniel's defence of the mage which draws him in. "You said you knew me. Kirkwall, yes? The battle at the Gallows? How many--" Minutes? Weeks? Years? "How much time has passed for you since? Not including Wonderland."

Because in the initial commotion few truly knew more than chaos, could not tell what had transpired or who had been responsible. But in the aftermath both catastrophe and culprit should have been revealed, especially to another Grey Warden...

"Barely any time at all. People were still trying to fight."

He still couldn't quite come to terms with how it had all unfolded, both what he had seen and what he'd heard in the short time after. The mages had gained the support of the Champion.. why had the First Enchanter so suddenly turned to blood magic? None if it had made any sense, but everything had happened so quickly. Nathaniel shakes his head and gives Anders a quick glance. They haven't talked about it. Not about any of it.

"Only minutes. I heard the fighting break out while visiting with my sister, and came to assist as quickly I could. When I arrived at the Gallows, the Knight-Commander had already entirely lost her mind. What I heard after was limited. Everything was so.. muddled. All I knew for certain was that the Chantry..." Had exploded. That a rebel apostate mage had done it. That Anders had done it.

"That Grand Cleric Elthina and everyone inside the Chantry had been killed in an explosion. And.. who they were saying had done it."

Are they seriously talking about this now? For once in his life, it'd be nice not to make a moment all about him.

Peevishly, Anders clears his throat and lifts his hands like a referee sending two opposing fighters back to their corners. "As much as I love strolling down a memory lane that only applies to you two--"

He really, really doesn't, if that wasn't already clear.

"Let's stay on point. You," this is directed at Cullen with a pointed look, "have better things to be doing than standing around gabbing with Nathaniel. Like resting before you fall over. You're not convincing anyone, playing the tough guy by getting up and shaking off having an arrow lodged in your flank."

He resolutely avoids catching Nathaniel's eye. It's too early in the morning to be talking about Kirkwall and catastrophes caused by another Anders' hand. Could they please quit talking about him like he's not there?

He'd hoped for Nathaniel's opinion on the matter to strengthen his own, one way or another. Instead the man sounds just as undecided, if not more. Cullen looks from Nathaniel to Anders. Still a conversation they've yet to have, then. His eyes wander from one Warden to the other, considers. Something cold and indifferent inside him wants to pry for all the information he could get out of this. But a voice he doesn't feel tells him that this isn't his conversation to force.

(Reminds him that Anders could have taken advantage when his memories were lost, and that he did not. Points plainly at the wound he could have left to bleed out, and did not.)

Cullen's eyes fix Anders silently, but he finally makes himself nod.

"As you say. My room is nearby, I--" He means to leave, and takes the first step. Only standing upright is one thing, and making himself move is another. He swallows. "--might need some help getting there."

He thinks he normally wouldn't ask so readily. He wonders why he does, now. And more than that he looks at Anders expectantly. If the mage wants an out of this conversation, then Cullen will give him an out.

Nathaniel has learned enough to be entirely unsure of what his opinion is in this matter, but the one thing he is sure of is that the Anders he knows would never do something like blow up a chantry. Certainly not when he knew that people were still inside, even if those people hated him. It isn't a conversation they have had, because the mage avoids the topic and the rogue respects that he has no wish to discuss it, and it isn't a conversation they are about to have right now.

Giving Anders a lesson about how it feels to be talked about as if you're not present can definitely wait for another, more appropriate time.

"I'll accompany you," Nathaniel offers, feeling obliged given that the Templar's weakness is certainly part his own fault. "Thank you, Anders, for your help." While he doesn't add it, he's aware that he now definitely owes Anders a favour.

"I'll make an effort to not have to call you from your bed again any time soon."

Huh. Steering them both off the topic had been surprisingly painless--extra surprising in Cullen's case. "Good... Good then. I changed my mind, I think I prefer living in suspense about what happened here. The truth won't be as interesting as my version of events. Which I'm going to share with inquiring minds if anyone asks, just so you know."

Nathaniel bringing up the Kirkwall Chantry (and the death of a Grand Cleric? Had that really happened?) would've been the perfect opportunity for Cullen to take attention away from the foolish manner in which he'd been injured and take a run at Anders instead. The fact that he doesn't catches Anders off guard. He meets Cullen's look with cautious hope. He must be itching to get out of here and forget this whole thing to give up the mage-hunt so easily.

Whatever the reason, Anders isn't about to take the reprieve for granted.

"There are other ways to see me half-dressed, you know," he quips, waving a hand at them. "Go on, Nathaniel, I'll leave it to you. Get out of here before I regret it. I'll clean this up."

Edited 2016-05-22 06:54 (UTC)

Cullen turns to leave, leaning on Nathaniel for support. Somewhere the motion of a wrong step makes him groan. Anders' quip does, as well, so at least that suits him. He rolls his eyes to match, and makes for the door.

--But did he say it yet? Cullen thinks back, quickly. Why, he asked; then no, those weren't his first words. Maker, and he's cleaning up the blood, too, and so far those weren't any of his words at all. He feels dull about it. (Wonderland? Blood loss? No matter.) That he didn't say it sooner, or that he needs to say it at all? No matter either, because it needs to be said. He stops.

"Thank you, Anders."

And then he's out the door as fast as Nathaniel's support and his condition will allow, because he'd really rather leave it at that.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[OPEN]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject