![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Open RP Post
I am good for: |
Everything was easier, in the Fade. It always was. It was an escape, and he knew that - an escape he had taken for thousands of years, and one he needed to put behind him... But he still could not fully resist. Not when he needed to rest. Not at night, when all of Skyhold was asleep.
So he walked, the Fade-mirror halls of Skyhold, breathing deeply as he touched the stone.
As he slipped into the dreams of those that shared its roof.
So he walked, the Fade-mirror halls of Skyhold, breathing deeply as he touched the stone.
As he slipped into the dreams of those that shared its roof.
It was easy enough to joke about what he saw when he slept. Everyone expected grand adventure or saucy tales and spinning them was simple enough. Meeting those expectations, leering, joking after being woken about missing out on acrobatic triplets in oil- that was what most thought he should see. So it was what he let them think. The truth?
Was not half so kind.
Antiva, again, in a small apartment near the tanneries. The wash of the ocean and the call of the whores in the allies the only lullaby a crow is ever given- aside from the steady crack of a lash along his back. He does not flinch- he cannot flinch or the knife at his throat will cut across. No, he must swallow and continue telling the offhand tale he'd been in the middle of when the whip came down.
Was not half so kind.
Antiva, again, in a small apartment near the tanneries. The wash of the ocean and the call of the whores in the allies the only lullaby a crow is ever given- aside from the steady crack of a lash along his back. He does not flinch- he cannot flinch or the knife at his throat will cut across. No, he must swallow and continue telling the offhand tale he'd been in the middle of when the whip came down.
To others, it might have been strange, to step from cold air into thick and humid, the salt the barest taste as he breathed in. But to Solas, it was as natural as that very breath, taken as the lash came down, the crack echoing through the Fade. He stepped forward like a ghost might - unworried and unperturbed by who or what would see him. It didn't matter.
It was just another dream, another mirror of a reality that was hardly real in itself. A passing thought, for him to ponder and then release before he stepped into the next.
Or so he expected.
The truth was more complicated. The truth was when he stepped further into that dream, when he found the man bent, the knife at his throat - half a child, flickering, half the full grown man, remembering, and the recognition hit him. Zevran. This was no dream of desire, no antivan silk and endless whores. This was pain, and rage, and wounds so deep he couldn't see the bottom.
This was wrong.
It was just another dream, another mirror of a reality that was hardly real in itself. A passing thought, for him to ponder and then release before he stepped into the next.
Or so he expected.
The truth was more complicated. The truth was when he stepped further into that dream, when he found the man bent, the knife at his throat - half a child, flickering, half the full grown man, remembering, and the recognition hit him. Zevran. This was no dream of desire, no antivan silk and endless whores. This was pain, and rage, and wounds so deep he couldn't see the bottom.
This was wrong.
"What was that?" One of the shadows with the whip- a master, a Crow, an elven woman with red hair and blood at her throat, asked between one lash and the next. Those holding his arms shifted from face to face- Crows he knew, masters he served, nobles he'd killed.
The one constant was the man with the knife. Tanned skin, broad jaw, dark eyes and on his face a smile that was proud. Encouraging. "Almost done, Zev."
Murmured with affection. As though this was no torment, as though they were discussing the weather rather than lashing into his back. Zevran laughed, clearing his throat- never flinching. He could not afford to flinch. "I said he wanted to buy my hair. Can you imagine, Tali, me with a shaved head and a pocket full of sovereigns?"
Down snapped the whip and Zevran did not waver. "Of course I could not."
"You know why that is?" Taliesin's free hand slipped back to curl in the aforementioned hair, yanking Zevran's head up harshly, eyes glinting with something darker than pride, more vicious than the whip. Possession. "Let me hear you say why, Zev, and we'll be done. I promise."
"Because-" A lash too close to his spine, a stuttered breath Zevran twisted into a laugh, low and crackling. "Because I am yours. And you like it long, yes?"
The one constant was the man with the knife. Tanned skin, broad jaw, dark eyes and on his face a smile that was proud. Encouraging. "Almost done, Zev."
Murmured with affection. As though this was no torment, as though they were discussing the weather rather than lashing into his back. Zevran laughed, clearing his throat- never flinching. He could not afford to flinch. "I said he wanted to buy my hair. Can you imagine, Tali, me with a shaved head and a pocket full of sovereigns?"
Down snapped the whip and Zevran did not waver. "Of course I could not."
"You know why that is?" Taliesin's free hand slipped back to curl in the aforementioned hair, yanking Zevran's head up harshly, eyes glinting with something darker than pride, more vicious than the whip. Possession. "Let me hear you say why, Zev, and we'll be done. I promise."
"Because-" A lash too close to his spine, a stuttered breath Zevran twisted into a laugh, low and crackling. "Because I am yours. And you like it long, yes?"
"Enough." The word snapped out sharper than the whip had, a real, raw anger behind the word. He had seen it, so many times. Had heard it...
He would not be witness to it again. Not here. Not now. Taliesin disappeared into smoke as Solas stepped into the place where he had been, the dream disintegrating around him. He took the knife, and dropped it clattering to the floor.
"You are no one's, Zevran. You have paid dearly for your freedom. You should not have it stripped from you again. Even here."
As welcome as the end of the dream was- Solas slipping in was just as jarring. That wasn't where the memory ended even if it was where the whipping stopped. Tender hands on his back, a mouth on his shoulder, Taliesin branding his skin and teeth and breath into Zevran's skin as he ever did when he thought for even a moment Zevran's attention might stray.
He remained on his knees for a moment, the pain fading, the marks, fading as the child curled up into nothing in the center of his chest and the man remained.
Solas walked in dreams, this he knew. He simply never thought Solas would go so far as to intrude in his own. "What, that?"
A laugh, hollow as the rest as he found his feet. "Mm. I knelt willingly for that. I do not know if you are aware but there are some things done in the bedroom that aren't all courtly gestures, my bald friend."
He remained on his knees for a moment, the pain fading, the marks, fading as the child curled up into nothing in the center of his chest and the man remained.
Solas walked in dreams, this he knew. He simply never thought Solas would go so far as to intrude in his own. "What, that?"
A laugh, hollow as the rest as he found his feet. "Mm. I knelt willingly for that. I do not know if you are aware but there are some things done in the bedroom that aren't all courtly gestures, my bald friend."
"And you think others have not knelt and willingly given up their freedom?"
He was bald, yes. Now. Only from practice. He could not afford to slip into a younger version of himself, here. Could not afford the Dread Wolf bearing its fangs, regardless of how the words stirred an old, bitter passion in him.
He knew the difference, between the sweet scent of bedroom pleasure, and the scar tissue of the Fade. He knew the latter far too well.
He offered a hand as Zevran stood.
"Or that courtly gestures can be as heavy a chain as any other?"
"It is a rare thing when they do not." It was a different matter entirely if it was the game he would rather play it of as, rather than one of many incidents of Taliesin attempting to assert his right to do with Zevran what he willed in exchange for his life.
What manner of life that had been.
His lips pressed thin as he took the hand- and made a gesture all his own, tugging Solas' up to press a kiss to the back of it. "Well if you are promising chains..."
Playing the part was simpler when he was awake. When he could prevent bruising from blooming onto his skin where he'd been manacled in the past at the thought.
What manner of life that had been.
His lips pressed thin as he took the hand- and made a gesture all his own, tugging Solas' up to press a kiss to the back of it. "Well if you are promising chains..."
Playing the part was simpler when he was awake. When he could prevent bruising from blooming onto his skin where he'd been manacled in the past at the thought.
Everything has pretty much blown over, and for the most part, everyone has forgotten what happened in Emprise. Even Beleth has been overly forgiving, moreso than Cade can comprehend, and with the Inquisition moving on, he has more or less slipped through the cracks once again.
Now he doesn't even have drills and patrols to occupy his time, still forbidden from carrying weapons or going into any kind of combat scenario. He works for the Seeker during the day, and spends his idle evenings either wandering the battlements (not patrolling, just walking, he tells himself) and occasionally sequestering himself in one of the empty towers with a candle and a book, passing the time in total solitude and without the judging eyes of those around him.
Apart from Aleron, there isn't a soul he talks to. It's better this way, withdrawn from the people who were beginning to know him, avoiding contact with those he wronged and from those he might wrong in the future.
It's either this or walk off into the mountains, or step off the edge of a tower, just disappear without causing any more fuss. Sometimes he longs for that, but the Maker frowns on those who waste themselves.
At present he is curled up in one of the aforementioned towers, a wool blanket over his shoulders and some stupid book in his hands, a thing for which he has no interest but which is here to pass the time until it's time to go to sleep.
Now he doesn't even have drills and patrols to occupy his time, still forbidden from carrying weapons or going into any kind of combat scenario. He works for the Seeker during the day, and spends his idle evenings either wandering the battlements (not patrolling, just walking, he tells himself) and occasionally sequestering himself in one of the empty towers with a candle and a book, passing the time in total solitude and without the judging eyes of those around him.
Apart from Aleron, there isn't a soul he talks to. It's better this way, withdrawn from the people who were beginning to know him, avoiding contact with those he wronged and from those he might wrong in the future.
It's either this or walk off into the mountains, or step off the edge of a tower, just disappear without causing any more fuss. Sometimes he longs for that, but the Maker frowns on those who waste themselves.
At present he is curled up in one of the aforementioned towers, a wool blanket over his shoulders and some stupid book in his hands, a thing for which he has no interest but which is here to pass the time until it's time to go to sleep.
Walking the battlements does much to clear the mind. Checking points of infiltration isn't exactly his job but it does ease the tension in his shoulders to be certain that getting in and out is not something quite so easily done. Finding every nook, every cranny to be certain there are no caches of tools that ought not be there, no stockpiles of poison or food or weapons helps him sleep, as much as he bothers to do so.
Tonight it is the towers. Normally empty and thing quickly done, he pokes his head inside for his usual cursory check only to blink at the man curled in the corner. Cade. The templar that struck Beleth, that was struck by Merrick.
He doesn't know much of the man other than he seems on edge and off center- even now this? Does not speak well of a mind settled. "Not the most comfortable place to study, I should think."
Zevran keeps his voice light, easy. Without weight as he slips inside and closes the door behind him.
Tonight it is the towers. Normally empty and thing quickly done, he pokes his head inside for his usual cursory check only to blink at the man curled in the corner. Cade. The templar that struck Beleth, that was struck by Merrick.
He doesn't know much of the man other than he seems on edge and off center- even now this? Does not speak well of a mind settled. "Not the most comfortable place to study, I should think."
Zevran keeps his voice light, easy. Without weight as he slips inside and closes the door behind him.
Cade almost resembles a frightened dog when the door makes a sound, on the verge of scrambling out of sight and out of mind, but he's already been seen. He breathes out through his nose, blinking rapidly, trying to remember that other people come through here, other people in Skyhold who have no business with him at all.
"Um..." he murmurs, hoping this will be enough to end the exchange, "it's. Fine, actually."
"Um..." he murmurs, hoping this will be enough to end the exchange, "it's. Fine, actually."
"Private, though, if you remember to lock the door." There's a small click of the lock falling into place behind him- for however this conversation goes? Zevran prefers not to be interrupted. The man doesn't look terribly vicious- the description of Beleth's attacker sits poorly against the image of the man huddled under his blanket.
"You are Cade Harimann, yes? The Templar?" As though he isn't certain.
"You are Cade Harimann, yes? The Templar?" As though he isn't certain.
The click of the lock is a deafening sound to one so constantly on-edge as Cade, and he immediately glances toward the door on the opposite side of the tower, and then to the crumbling stairs, as though they would offer any escape. Heart suddenly hammering in his chest, he slowly stands, back to the wall, blanket still around his shoulders, cringing preemptively as he awaits the attack.
"...yes," he says faintly, watching Zevran's hands and giving an involuntary wince. The elf is considerably smaller than he is, but he knows better than to think that will matter.
"...yes," he says faintly, watching Zevran's hands and giving an involuntary wince. The elf is considerably smaller than he is, but he knows better than to think that will matter.
"I think we ought to have some words, you and I." Something so friendly, said with a smile, probably shouldn't have quite so much weight to it. Zevran walks across to the second door slowly, if he gets there before the man bolts? It too shall be locked. "Or rather I have a few questions I do not think you will mind answering."
Cade's feet are like lead, and on a deep and primal level, he already knows that bolting for the door would be futile. He's stuck here, until he is allowed to leave, when he will pretend nothing happened and go back to his life, another piece of him missing.
He feels the bile rising as he watches Zevran traverse the room, barely hearing what the man is saying, the sudden onslaught of horror and disgust and shame overtaking all his thoughts. He looks at the floor, blanket wrapped tightly around him, his knuckles white where he grips it. And he waits.
He feels the bile rising as he watches Zevran traverse the room, barely hearing what the man is saying, the sudden onslaught of horror and disgust and shame overtaking all his thoughts. He looks at the floor, blanket wrapped tightly around him, his knuckles white where he grips it. And he waits.
This-
This is not the reaction of a man with a temper. A man that lashes out at provocation. This is not the face of a man ready to snap at someone that looks at him oddly. A man resigned is not a man on the edge. More pieces to the puzzle but he's not entirely certain they even go in the same box. Not anymore.
"...you are the same templar that had a violent disagreement with the elf Beleth, yes?" He is having a hard time picturing this man attempting to kill anyone, let alone his student.
This is not the reaction of a man with a temper. A man that lashes out at provocation. This is not the face of a man ready to snap at someone that looks at him oddly. A man resigned is not a man on the edge. More pieces to the puzzle but he's not entirely certain they even go in the same box. Not anymore.
"...you are the same templar that had a violent disagreement with the elf Beleth, yes?" He is having a hard time picturing this man attempting to kill anyone, let alone his student.
"...really?" He has a difficult time wrapping his head around that. "Can you tell me why, then? She was terribly vague."
Zevran keeps to his side of the room, leaning back against the locked door. When a man finds himself cornered- you leave him his space. Simple enough. A twist of something familiar lingers in the air but it is not done with humans.
Is it?
Zevran keeps to his side of the room, leaning back against the locked door. When a man finds himself cornered- you leave him his space. Simple enough. A twist of something familiar lingers in the air but it is not done with humans.
Is it?
The two experiences are, at last, beginning to meld, but only in the sense that the long and torturous process of dealing with the assault is now creeping in with Cade's simmering terror. He would rather just be murdered, than be asked about this while feeling like this.
"I don't know," he says, his voice breaking with genuine despair. "I don't remember, I don't remember..." He buries his face in his hands, still clutching the blanket, muffling in the fabric what sounds suspiciously like quiet sobs.
It's a nightmare being asked over and over again, in different situations, by different accusers, a question that he can't answer. Here, shut in a room and cornered by a man whom Cade knows for his... proclivities, it's too much.
"I don't know," he says, his voice breaking with genuine despair. "I don't remember, I don't remember..." He buries his face in his hands, still clutching the blanket, muffling in the fabric what sounds suspiciously like quiet sobs.
It's a nightmare being asked over and over again, in different situations, by different accusers, a question that he can't answer. Here, shut in a room and cornered by a man whom Cade knows for his... proclivities, it's too much.
"Well that's no good." Lost time? Even Berzerkers and Reavers could recall their moments of bloodlust. Time lost entirely? That-
Once has been enough of an answer and Zevran is of the mind to ask different questions for different answers- or at least that had been the plan until the man started weeping. Well.
This is.
Terribly awkward.
"...I. You. Cade." Slow. He makes his approach slow, hands up to show he is unarmed. "What exactly is it you think is going to happen, here?"
Once has been enough of an answer and Zevran is of the mind to ask different questions for different answers- or at least that had been the plan until the man started weeping. Well.
This is.
Terribly awkward.
"...I. You. Cade." Slow. He makes his approach slow, hands up to show he is unarmed. "What exactly is it you think is going to happen, here?"
It doesn't matter that Zevran is unarmed, because the fact that he's moving closer is enough. Whether Cade continues hiding his face because he's that badly off or because he's too ashamed to let someone see him cry, it's unclear, but also irrelevant. At the question, he shudders, then slowly sink to the grounds, curling into a ball and clutching at his head with both hands as he sobs. He can't answer, because that would involve admitting it, and speaking it aloud. And that would make it real, not a memory long-hidden and avoided.
Half of him is certain that he ought to go. This is a mess he wants no part of- but it is a dangerous mess that, as best he can tell, no one else seems to wish to have a hand in mending. Remove a man from his weapons and he still has his fists. Anyone with holes in their memory, violence waiting under their skin like that which had been visited upon Beleth- and this reaction to being asked over it?
A larger mess than previously anticipated. It cannot be left alone.
Zevran stops well out of arm's reach kneeling as to not be above him. That tingling, sickening familiarity in the air coils again and he wonders if humans truly do suffer the same cruelties as elves in such a way. "I am not going to touch you."
It's more believable than 'not going to hurt you'. They've likely both heard that enough to know better.
A larger mess than previously anticipated. It cannot be left alone.
Zevran stops well out of arm's reach kneeling as to not be above him. That tingling, sickening familiarity in the air coils again and he wonders if humans truly do suffer the same cruelties as elves in such a way. "I am not going to touch you."
It's more believable than 'not going to hurt you'. They've likely both heard that enough to know better.
It takes Cade a little while to come down from his panic. Perhaps it's just being allowed to sit there, untouched but with someone nearby, even if that someone was just threatening him a moment ago. But eventually, he does wind down, from exhaustion if nothing else, and he slowly, abashedly lifts his head to look at Zevran. He glances away immediately, of course; there's no such thing as eye contact in these moments, rare enough as it is from him in the first place.
As the reality of what's happening sinks in, Cade's frantic terror begins to give way to his standard, much calmer and more manageable self-loathing, brought on now by the fact that he just sat on the floor and cried like a child while someone tried to ask him questions. The shame never ends.
He diverts his gaze to the floor, hoping resignedly that Zevran will give up and go away. Or kill him, that would be fine too.
As the reality of what's happening sinks in, Cade's frantic terror begins to give way to his standard, much calmer and more manageable self-loathing, brought on now by the fact that he just sat on the floor and cried like a child while someone tried to ask him questions. The shame never ends.
He diverts his gaze to the floor, hoping resignedly that Zevran will give up and go away. Or kill him, that would be fine too.
"...Are you going to talk or are you going to sulk? Because I literally have all night." Zevran has never been a bastion of patience- but this? This is important. And interesting. And...he gets the feeling that no one has ever sat and made the man address this- whatever it is- before. No one ever tried to address it with Zevran but he'd had crying jags and fear and most of his self loathing beaten out of him.
Cade is no Crow, but there are...signs.
Concerning ones.
"Do you often lose time?"
Cade is no Crow, but there are...signs.
Concerning ones.
"Do you often lose time?"
The initial question pushes him down deeper, the typical unkindness he's come to expect only confirming what he already knows. Although at times crying makes a person feel better, at the moment Cade was only feeling a terrible dullness, the wound reaching too deeply to ever find relief, even after it was purged of some of its surface malignance.
Slowly, exhaustedly, he nods to Zevran. Another question he has been asked many times. "When I fight," he rasps, his voice hoarse from the strain, "...but I don't fight anymore." So, problem solved, everyone can go home.
Slowly, exhaustedly, he nods to Zevran. Another question he has been asked many times. "When I fight," he rasps, his voice hoarse from the strain, "...but I don't fight anymore." So, problem solved, everyone can go home.
Page 1 of 8