entrancelogs | [CLOSED] Can you put the past away;

Entry tags:

[CLOSED] Can you put the past away;

Who: Dorian “I’m Exquisite” Pavus & Cullen “Lions Are a Fashion Statement” Rutherford
Where: Cullen’s Room
When: 6/08
Rating: PG; will update as needed.
Summary: Someone has to talk Cullen down from the lyrium ledge.
The Story:

Truth be told, Dorian’s initial reason for seeking out Cullen is not only to rekindle their standing chess games, but also because he desperately needs some kind of distraction from the recent and decidedly unsettling change in the mirrors. He’d become reasonably well-acquainted with Brennan’s Mirror in the worst possible way not long after their arrival in Wonderland; after that, he’d decided he had very little interest in meeting many others from the other side of the glass, and the same could be said for watching them.

Still, with the mirrors reversed, it was difficult not to watch, and rather than dwell on what he’s seen or letting the urge to look regardless nag at him while reading, he opts to seek out his friend and find another way to keep his mind occupied. He doesn’t bother to call ahead-- Cullen, he’s sure, will be delighted to see him, as so many often were, and he knocks sharply at Cullen’s door before testing the knob to see if he might let himself in.

“Might I interest you in a game?” he asks from the corridor, the board itself tucked beneath one arm, along with a bottle of wine. He always does his best to come prepared.

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'Mistakes were made in our world. We had to pay the price somehow.'

Scrolls cover his chair, and Cullen sits on the edge of his bed. His muscles sound a dull echo of yesterday's pains, but today is bearable. All the worse then, knowing that he could endure, while thinking that perhaps he no longer should.

'She was a carta dwarf, did you expect anything else? Did you think she would listen to you?'

The kit is not the one he carved on his own, but the contents are what they must be. He takes off his gloves, and waits for another way to come to him. Instead the wood's smooth polish is a familiar comfort under his fingers. He never did ask Brennan what became of the commander he knows, in the world that defeated Corypheus after all.

'The Inquisition will need you stronger than you are. They need you stronger now.'

He supposes it doesn't matter in the end. Not for his future. Not for the things they must face here in the present, with him.

(For a second he doesn't connect the knock to anything other than the sound of his fingers tapping the box, odd as it strikes him. But then he hears the voice, and Cullen blinks.)

Cullen blinks, and looks up. The door is unlocked, which he instantly regrets, because this is not an invitation he can extend right now. He sets the kit down on his bed, and gets up quickly to block the path into his room as soon as he can.

"Not today," he manages fast, if too sharply, and quickly amends: "I'm... sorry, I don't have a mind for it today. Perhaps- later, perhaps another time."

It's the sudden movement that strikes Dorian as strange; he might have crossed the threshold on his own given the opportunity, but the fact that Cullen moves so swiftly to keep him from doing just that is undeniably odd, considering how many visits he'd paid to the Commander's tower back at Skyhold.

"Fair enough," the magister remarks slowly, though he cranes his neck in order to try and steal a glimpse past, see whatever might be behind the room's owner before frowning and turning his attention to Cullen proper, his dark brows drawing downward.

"You're not yourself," he observes candidly, a frown pulling at one corner of his lips. "Is aught amiss, Commander?"

A mirthless laugh escapes him quietly. He glances back at his mirror where it all started, with someone not quite himself. It started well before you were even taken here, he reminds himself, and wishes he didn't have to.

"A bad time, that is all."

Wishes he could speak to Dorian afterwards, not now, while he still hesitates, and delays what must be done. It won't be a problem much longer, he wants to say, his hand already on the door to close it, but he brings himself to do neither. Only feels his grip on the door tighten, angrier with himself for every moment he hesitates.

"--Would you... answer me a question? About the future?"

The mage narrows his eyes briefly, curious, but in the end he offers his friend a careful nod. For all the questions he has, for all that he could tell Cullen he doesn't quite believe him, whatever question the Commander himself has is as like to tell Dorian what he's happened upon as any.

"Of course," he offers, the usual mirth still lacking. "Though I can't promise that everything I have to say about the future is entirely pleasant." Mostly the opposite, in fact.

"I don't expect it to be."

Cullen can say that much with certainty, at least. He gives a brief nod to show his gratitude, and more to fill the silence that follows. Securing an answer is not the hardest step, as it turns out. That prize falls to asking the right question. Cullen deliberates.

He could ask about his talk with Cassandra, assuming that it would take place soon enough, but details of that may have eluded Dorian. Worlds might change timing and circumstances. Different paths. A look at the outcome then, first.

"Do I still serve the Inquisition when you defeat Corypheus?"

It's a pointed question, but simple enough to answer-- Dorian nods sharply, his brow creasing slightly as he wonders at where any further questions might lead them, though he supposes that even with that one, he can make a well-educated guess.

"Of course," he says easily, and while he knows there had certainly been the potential for things to work out differently, he answers as though there had never been any doubt about that particular outcome. "I doubt there's much that could sway you to do otherwise. I've yet to meet another so loyal."

But is that a good thing? The question makes itself a home in the place where relief ought to be. After all it was not loyalty that bound him to Meredith and the Order, but he doubts that it ever looked otherwise from the outside. Would there be a difference this time? Would Dorian know? He'd always hoped to speak about it openly, the day his steps without lyrium no longer felt quite so shaky. Perhaps that day will never come, after all.

"That... is good to hear. I wasn't always sure of it, but--" He shakes his head. "--apparently it all works out. One way or another."

--Some of that wasn't meant to be said out loud, he's fairly sure. Cullen sighs quietly. Suppose there's little difference to it now. He glances at the chess board tucked away underneath Dorian's arm.

"In any event, you have people from several different worlds to play against. You shouldn't keep them waiting."

His frown persists, and Dorian finds that he's not inclined to go and seek out another chess partner in the least-- instead, he sets the bottle of wine down before taking hold of his friend, one hand against either arm, just beneath the shoulder, commanding his attention.

"There's more that troubles you," he says frankly, and there's no question to it, no uncertainty. "Do you really expect me to leave when you're so clearly ill-at-ease, friend?"

He wants to welcome the gesture. He wants the comfort it was meant to be, not the shame he feels knowing his weakness. No, worse. His indecision. He should know his path by now, better than this. His fists clench.

"Troubles of my own choosing. I wouldn't make them yours. I--"

He can't now, can he? Meet Dorian like this, and send him away without an explanation. It wouldn't be right, for a friend. Cullen exhales slowly, and hopes that the words come to him.

"In your world, did I ever tell you- as a templar, that I would take lyrium? That I... tried to stop when I joined the Inquisition?"

He flinches slightly. No, best not to dwell on the phrasing, getting out the meaning is bad enough.

"You did-- though it took some convincing, getting you to unburden yourself," Dorian assures him, not entirely unlike their current situation, to be perfectly honest. "You never told me much, but many of us knew. We worried for you. Brennan told me some, as well, though he was ever careful not to betray your confidence."

That in itself had been a careful dance; so many came to Brennan to discuss their troubles, but there wasn't much that he and Dorian didn't tell one another. Dorian's own thirst for gossip made it even more difficult; respecting that confidence was truly a great test of the mage's character.

"I supported your decision," he goes on to say, his mouth settling into a firm line. "You were better off without it. Happier, I think, even if it was difficult."

The sinking feeling doesn't let itself get smothered on time, though truthfully he never did expect any secret to survive Skyhold undiscovered. Besides, it was never truly a secret, was it? Only a plan he didn't want to spread before he liked the odds better.

"I'd hoped perhaps one day it would become easier to speak about."

But Dorian knew. Knows again, now, and that will have to do.

Cullen wonders, briefly, what it would have been like to inform Brennan, instead of Cadash. He wonders, briefly still, if his concerns about the future would be different now. Wonders if Dorian says were and was to recall the conversation, or a time before Cullen gave in.

When he stops wondering he turns, away from Dorian, pacing back into his room with every frustrated and restless steps of his here and now.

"I can't- afford to struggle, not here."

"You can't mean--"

Dorian invites himself to follow without hesitation, frowning as he reaches out to catch Cullen by the arm, giving him a gentle tug to turn his attention back, an attempt to halt his pacing.

"Cullen. Don't tell me you're planning to take it again."

Cullen stops uneasily. The disquiet pulls at him with every second of stillness, anger pooling where something wrong tells him that he could outpace the problem if he was faster. He swallows down the lump in his throat hard, and forces himself to appreciate the anchor.

What can he even say to that, when the answer lies half-opened in wait on his sheets?

"When Cassandra recruited me I told her about my situation. She knows to find a replacement when I become unfit for my task." A sigh. It doesn't help. "Just before I was taken here I'd intended to give her my resignation. I expect I still will, once we've escaped this blighted place."

Cullen turns his head to look at his bed, so Dorian can follow the trail, and he can leave the words unspoken.

"If I still command, then whatever world you come from clearly knows a better man than I am."

Dorian sets his jaw, swallowing hard as he follows his friend's gaze, allowing it to fall on the little open chest and its contents. Of course there was temptation. Here, of all places, it should have been expected that it would rear its ugly head-- obtaining lyrium here can't have been terribly difficult, and Dorian has seen addiction change people before, even if the substance in question varied. It pushed, nagged, dragged at you until you thought you had no choice but to succumb.

But Dorian has seen him overcome it before. Why not now?

"Do not say such things," the mage chides him, expression grim even as he folds his arms across his chest. "We all have our demons. We are all tempted by one thing or another, and we all slip. The Cullen of my world struggled, as well-- but he was supported in his decision. His friends-- Brennan sought to help him stay strong, to help him succeed. If you wish it, I would do the same now."

"I wish--"

--for progress in their struggle against Wonderland, what else? This is not the battle, nor the cause he signed up for, but with their hands forced this is the one he must fight all the same. With all that entails.

"We have enough problems stacked against us here, how can I justify adding another?"

For you at that, though he doesn't add as much. Cassandra knew what they both signed up for. Cullen did. Dorian shouldn't have the weight forced on him by circumstance.

Dorian's gaze darkens-- the problem existed no matter what Cullen chose, though the nature of it changed. Cullen had been unhappy with the things he'd done while taking lyrium, displeased with the man he felt he'd become while dependent on it. If he thought that continuing to abstain made him weak, Dorian had to disagree. It was difficult, yes, but it would make him stronger. It had to.

"It's only a problem if I choose to view it as one," Dorian says evenly, "And I would never, nor would Brennan. I support you in doing what you feel you must, but I implore you to think, really think about the reason you stopped in the first place."

He doesn't need to consider. The thoughts have been on his mind all day, it takes only a moment to brace himself, before he can voice them.

"I knew my purpose once. I'd hoped that- I might be able to find it again, if... if I had the choice. Who I served, and why."

The choice for his life to be his own again, free from the fears that kept him chained. Free from all that compelled him against his better judgement for too long. In Thedas, he adds, in the world where he could make a second chance matter.

"But what choices do we have here, either way?"

Only whether to fall to Wonderland, or to oppose it, a place which can take your mind as easily in a second as lyrium does in decades worth of work. They can fall in many ways, but to oppose it? They will need strength, of which he has clearly not had enough yet.

"We have choices."

Even if they view this place as a prison, even if it's not their world, the one where they feel their choices matter-- what they do with themselves here still counts for something, for good or for ill.

"What good do you feel this choice will do?" Dorian goes on to ask, and it rings genuine, an honest concern. Perhaps if Cullen says it aloud, it will make sense-- or perhaps Dorian will continue to refute it.

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[CLOSED] Can you put the past away;

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