callum marshall ⚔️ cullen rutherford (fereldan) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2018-02-28 20:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, r * jaclyn, r: callum marshall |
WHO: Callum Marshall → Cullen Rutherford
WHEN: WEDNESDAY; Feb 28, 2018, middle of the night
WHERE: His bedroom at Elle's place
SUMMARY: Cullen realizes Amell is not another hallucination, but that doesn't make it much better. Cal wakes up from this and responds with a secret flask. He doesn't handle any sort of flashbacks well...
WARNINGS: Drinky drink
PROMPTS: Secret
“There is nothing wrong with liking someone,” she told him defiantly. For a moment Cullen saw in her what he had before, the optimism and strength. But then that moment passed. She was one of them, and she could be corrupted at any moment. Disgust filled him. “It was the foolish fancy of a naive boy,” he spat. “I know better now. Why have you returned to the tower? How did you survive?” “Is it so surprising that I’ve returned?” There was hurt and offense in her tone, but it didn’t touch him like it normally would have. Those days were gone. “This was my home.” “As it was mine. And look what they’ve done to it!” All around them were the broken bodies of his brothers and sisters in arms, tortured and broken. He’d watched as every one of them was tortured, their mind raped and torn apart. They’d tried to do it to him, but he’d stayed strong… If this was strength… “They deserve to die! Uldred most of all,” Cullen insisted fiercely, glaring at the woman he had once thought he might’ve loved through the pulsing barrier that separated them. “They caged us like animals… looked for ways to break us. I’m the only one left…” “Be proud,” came the deep-voiced Qunari from behind her. He bore no horns, but his species was clear. If she kept company with the oxmen now, he truly had never known her. “You mastered yourself.” “Be proud?” Cullen responded sharply. His anger flared again. “What is there to be proud of? That I lived and they died?” The Qunari spoke of pride, like he had won a victory, like he was better than the other Templars littering the floor. But they had been his family since he was thirteen. He knew them as well as he knew his brother and sisters. He’d loved them like he loved his brother and sisters... “They turned some into… monsters.” Cullen’s voice broke. “And… there was nothing I could do.” “You must stay strong.” Amell’s voice was gentle, kind, understanding. But what could she possibly understand. They stood, conversing through the purple-pink barrier as though they weren’t surrounded by dead Templars. She was a mage. Her kind had done this. A darkness came over his eyes. “And to think I once thought we were too hard on you…” This isn’t real… “We’re not all evil, Cullen.” This isn’t real… You’re safe. You’re with Elle. This isn’t real. They didn’t have to all be evil. They just had to be mages. She was a fool to think otherwise and her foolishness would be her death. “Only mages have that much power at their fingertips. Only mages are so susceptible to the infernal whisperings of the demons.” This isn’t real! Callum sucked in a hard breath, waking with a jolt in his bed. He was all too familiar with this feeling and he let out a whimper, curling his legs to his chest and wrapping the blanket tight around him. How many times had this happened, the memories of fallen soldiers run through again as though he were there, reliving it? How many nights did he wake up from the nightmares, too many of them resulting in Elle waking and hurrying to make sure he was okay? But the fallen soldiers in this memory were not the ones he had known. The trauma he’d been pulled from had left his leg intact, but his mind just as wounded. He reached a trembling hand down. He could feel his leg in his mind, but there was only air. That helped to ground him and he took a deep, shaky breath. Whatever he had just relived was not a flashback. There was no way he had ever been a part of that, but it was so real… Everything was fresh. It was a memory, not a dream, and how could something so vivid be a hallucination? Amell… The broken bodies of the Templars… His chest was tightening and he could feel himself falling in again. Desperately, he reached into the space between his boxspring and the wall for the narrow bottle he’d squeezed in there to keep Elle’s questions at bay. He had decided this month that he was going to do better, to be better, and not worry her any more. He’d been a terrible brother since coming home. She didn’t need to know about this. He didn’t have a problem anyway. He didn’t drink this because he needed to, he drank it because the burn reminded him of the present and kept him from slipping away. As he tipped it back and chugged gulp after gulp, he reminded himself of that. He didn’t need this and Elle didn’t need to know about it. He’d keep telling himself until the memory he’d seen blurred and the pain faded and sleep claimed him once more. |