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Festis bei umo canavarum.
“STAY BACK!”
It felt as if his heart had been hit harder than everything else. This was the second time Cassandra had pulled her weapon on him willingly, though the first his blood coated the sword. The Inquisitor tried to will it all away: the image before him, the blood, the fury and hurt. The fact the scene did not even waver proved this was not within the realm of the Fade.
“Cass-Cassandra?” He dropped to his knees, physical and emotional pain brewing inside of him. He had been nicked many times, but nothing prepared him for this kind of pain.
“You will not say my name! Not imsuch an intimate manner!” Cassandra pulled her sword back, ready for her next swing.
“I… why?” He could feel his mask fracture at the edges, strings of the magic peeling away. A wave of emotions threatening to bend the barrier inwards.
“You are a blood mage, do you really think I…that I could truly trust you?!” Cassandra’s arms wavered as her eyes glistened with held tears, her entire being unsure.
“Then...it is my fault. If...if I wasn’t a blood mage?” The words tasted bitter, vulnerable as his mask begun to shatter. There was no underlying chill to the words and no hollowness, only a pathetic plead.
“I…yes! It is your fault!” Cassandra grasped onto the revelation he had provided her, finding her resolve in it; and yet, she still hesitated to land another blow, despite her anger.
“I-I am sorry, then.” Between the pain, the blood, and the emotions, it was too much. The darkness came rushing in and the Void claimed him.
He sat up, noticing that he was not in his own thoughts.
It only surprised him a little, was he a spirit now? Not deemed worthy to be by the Maker’s side and thrust into the infinity of the Fade? Was this his death? Forever he would roam in and out of dreams, with an imaginary dagger twisted in his heart and his emotions running rampant.
“I will kill them all!” The voice echoed throughout the dream again, his chest tightening as he was now sure it was Cassandra. He walked towards the voice, his chest feeling heavier as he got closer. Once around a corner, he found himself in a dark red field. A young woman with long black hair held a corpse to her chest and sobbed quietly.
“Cassandra.” The Inquisitor walked closer, not knowing if she could hear or see him; not until she gasped and got to her feet, a sword in hand.
“Stay back, you worthless blood mage!” Cassandra’s eyes were far different from the one’s he knew…that he believed he had known. The pools of amber were fearful and uncertain, like the ones he had witnessed before his death.
“What happened here, what is this nightmare?”
“As if you don’t know! You killed him! You’re a monster!” Cassandra trembled, with fear or anger he wasn't certain.
“Then…I see. I am sorry, Cassandra. I am sorry for what I have done and who I am." He shut his eyes and breathed deep. "I am sorry to you and all those I have hurt with...this. Were I not a dreamer, a mage, an unlucky sod who selfishly chose my path. Or perhaps…if only I died sooner.”
Trevelyan stood, unable to look at the younger version of the woman who had struck him down. His eyes clenched tight and his nails digging bloody crescents into his hands. His emotions pressed on; fear increased the phantom beat of his dead heart, hurt twisted his once-injured stomach, anger trembled in every limb, and sadness and pain burned in his lungs, throat, and eyes.
He jumped, arms weaving around him as he continued to shake. Slowly he opened his eyes, the sight blurred by his own suppressed tears. He could make out black hair, feel phantom warmth from the Fade-Cassandra.
“I am sorry, Inquisitor! Please wake up, I do trust you…you are a good person, do not leave us yet! The Inquisition needs you and this was my fault, just-just wake up.” The voice was no longer that of the Fade, no longer that of a younger Cassandra.
The bright greens and dull tones of the Fade began to dissolve, shifting to darkness. Sight left him, but the warmth of another being stayed. A sudden chill swept down his spine, magic trickling across his skin. Then it was bright, so bright that all he saw was shadows hovering over him.
“He is waking up, but keep applying pressure to the wound.” Vivienne’s voice swam through his head, so smoothly that he barely caught it. The light began to fade, allowing him to see Vivienne’s concerned face.
“Vivi…” The Inquisitor let out several wet coughs, his eyes clamped shut in pain. He felt a vial being forced into his mouth and the foul taste of Elfroot and magic slid down his throat.
“Don’t talk, dear. You are still bleeding all over the marble. Varric, darling, do hand me another potion and ready more poultice.”
“No…no please don’t.” The Inquisitor winced from talking, but found himself feeling a bit better.
“Maybe you don’t realize this yet dearest, but you were run through with a sword.” Vivienne uncorked the potion Varric had handed her and went to lift the Inquisitor up. While there was some distant thought that he was being childish, the Inquisitor ignored it and clamped his mouth shut. The potion would only make him sick, and he didn’t feel like heaving while in pain.
“Inquisitor.” The voice was stern, scolding even and more familiar now. He looked over, seeing Cassandra pressing a cloth to his stomach; which was funny because he couldn’t feel it… actually that probably should be a bad thing. It didn’t stop the laugh falling from his lips. In fact, he tilted his head back on the ground and laughed harder despite the shooting pain in his chest.
“That-that means he is going to alright, right?” Varric eyed the chuckling Inquisitor with worry and looked to Vivienne.
“I’m afraid not, darling. He is going into shock.” Vivienne’s lips pressed in a straight line and her face showed her exhaustion and exasperation, she forced the Elfroot potion into his ajar mouth and began casting another healing spell.
“I am not.” The Inquisitor breathed out heavily, staring into the star-filled, night sky. “I enjoy the irony.”
“What irony? Because I don’t see anything funny.” The fact that came from Varric made the Inquisitor think carefully for a minute, before he decided that Varric could not see it because Vivienne was distracting him with menial tasks.
“The person who rammed her big, pointy sword through me is the one trying to stop me from bleeding out. And if it that doesn’t just tickle you silly, the woman I love was the one who ran me through with the aforementioned sword.” Another chuckle escaped his lips, becoming a laugh when he felt the hand on his stomach tense… ooh, he could feel his abdomen now. That was grand. Vivienne’s spell made him shiver as it coated him and the Orlesian mage reached for another vial, this time of a viscious blue. “I am not drinking that, Madame de Fer.”
“Yes you are, we need to get your strength up.” Vivienne pulled the stopper off the bottle, and the Inquisitor turned his head. The only thing worst than the taste of Elfroot and magic was lyrium dust and magic. It had been a long time since he had tasted the wretched concoction, as his magic had not needed lyrium as a base for a very long time. He was perfectly fine keeping it that way, even in these circumstances. This time, a bit more attentive, the Inquisitor shut his lips and refused to allow anything in or out. “Maker’s blessed breath, I am done engaging in this childish game.”
Another spell washed over the Inquisitor and he was out like a light.
It had been a few days since he had been impaled through and he was healing up well enough. Still he felt exhausted. It had taken him a few years and a bit of blood magic to build up a wall to hold everything in check, Cassandra had blown all that away with a single and near-fatal strike. He prided himself on holding an outer mask of neutrality, most of the time; however, internally he was a mess. Instead of one or two emotions slipping out like before, all his emotions tumbled about freely and it wore him out as he tried reining them in. A lifetime;s worth of fear, anger, frustration, hurt, sadness, and loss; all of it chucked through the void that was once a wall of blood and desperation.
“Inquisitor?” Cassandra uncharacteristically hesitated outside his room and it frustrated the Inquisitor. “I… I’ll come back later.”
“Wait.” The Inquisitor realized the emotion had manifested on his face without his consent and it further angered him, but he managed to command it back inside. Cassandra turned back around, playing with the bottom of her finery and looked anywhere but at him. “You can come in, I’m merely trying to get rid of the taste of all the potions the healers keeps feeding me.”
“I…see.” Cassandra walked in and sat on the chair by his bed, the Inquisitor struggled against the heavy blankets and his own aches to sit up against his pillows.
“So…you’ve been doing well then? Eating well and all that, because I haven’t. They slip herbs into my food. It is foul.” The Inquisitor gestured as he spoke, needing some kind of movement after being condemned to his bed.
“I am…I am sorry, not just about the food, Inquisitor. About everything. When you drew the life from that venatori spy, when you took his blood...I just…I snapped and…” Cassandra looked ready to snap again. It found a place among the Inquisitor’s worry and frustration, and was magnified by his free-floating emotions.
“Cassandra, for the Maker’s sake, shut up.” The Inquisitor almost laughed as Cassandra stopped mid-sentence and looked at him with her oh-so-familiar scowl, as if forgetting the situation. He could feel the mirth showing on his face and it dampened a little in light of the discovery, but he pushed forwards. “I understand, I know why you did what you did and I have already forgiven you. Even though there is nothing to be forgiven. I know I have to earn it, but I want you to trust me. To trust that even if I use my blood magic, it is only ever on myself or those who deserve it. And only when needed. After all I've not used it till that unfortunate incident, have I not?" The Inquisitor felt his good mood increase once again as Cassandra relaxed a bit, looking more attentive and less worried. "Besides, I have more reason to be angry at myself, than you."
“You are angry with yourself?”
“I…allowed…a spell I had on myself to wear off.” The Inquisitor sat for a minute and stared at his quilt as he thought through the ways he could reestablish the spell, all he was unwilling to repeat.
“What spell?” Cassandra’s tone drew the Inquisitor’s attention, and he looked over to see her troubled and disappointed with him, no doubt expecting the worst.
“I...had locked away my emotions. It was the safest way to ensure I didn’t let my anger or demons consume me, but now the barrier is gone and my emotions are all…topsy-turvy.” The Inquisitor watched a smirk appear on Cassandra’s face, and it startled him. The fact it got bigger alerting him his surprise showed.
“Good.”
“Good?!”
“It is unhealthy to distant yourself from your emotions and the people who care for you forever, Inquisitor.”
“But I have to sift through years of emotion.” The Inquisitor caught himself before he pouted like a child, cursing himself…and his mood swings.
“Then so be it, punishment for keeping it bottled.” Cassandra actually laughed a little, looking at him with sparkling eyes.
“Venhedis!” The Inquisitor started to sulk and beat back his rising feelings.
“Inquisitor?” Cassandra looked contemplative for a moment. “Do you recall what you said, when you regained consciousness?”
“Hm, about what?” The Inquisitor was curious, as he tried remembering the exact words from his 'ramblings as a dying mad man’, as Varric had so eloquently described.
“Forget it.” Cassandra rose and made her way towards the door.
“That’s it then? No response or confession from the lady who stole my heart and part of the flesh surrounding it, with her sword?”
“…I-I’m sorry Inquisitor, perhaps later.”