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She held her daggers high, eyes scanning her sparring partner, Cullen, for his next move. She'd insisted they spar, nearly begged him; "are you afraid you'll get shown up by an elf?" She taunted, mischievous grin speak across her lips. Ellaneya knew that wasn't why he didn't spar with her much anymore, knew he only did it so he didn't end up shaking dirt and grass out of his hair for what seemed like ages. She played dirty, quite literally sometimes.
He held his shield in front of him, angled downwards as he was trained to. He could get her this time, he would, he just needed to concentrate on- "Oh, Maker's breath..." he grumbled as she went into stealth, disappearing as quickly as he blinked. He caught the glimmer of her stealth one moment, charging at it, only to stumble through thin air. Damn her for being so fast.
"Behind you, Commander." She was leaning against the stone wall tossing her dagger up in the air and catching it with ease. Her smile was wicked, filled with danger. Cullen knew this was the end, that this was where she would win, it always was. How he didn't figure out her tricks yet was beyond him, but every time he got close to winning she'd turn the tables in a heartbeat.
Ellaneya sauntered towards him, daggers in hand, wrists spinning in slow circles, as if to keep them from growing stiff; something he'd noticed her doing a lot more recently. She lunged, and he caught her blade with his shield, only for her to pounce again, quicker this time. Cullen caught that blade with his sword, angling them both towards the ground. The brunette should've been stuck, both blades caught by the warrior, and her stealth used up for the time being.
But she slipped out, flipping backwards and hopping from foot to foot, waiting for the blonde's next move.
They danced around each other for a moment, eyes locking before she lunged again, though this time her blade dropped midway through, marked hand glowing with a bright green intensity neither of them has seen before. The pain was almost unbearable, tears stung at the back of her eyes, and a lump in her throat formed, but she forced herself to hold back the sobs, forced herself to lunge one last time. Cullen caught the weak jab with ease, her second blade falling to the ground with a harsh metallic sound that caused him to wince.
Ellaneya refused to forfeit, refused to give up simply because of this. She picked her dagger up, rotating her unmarked hand, once, twice, three times before landing a shaky blow against Cullen's armor, but he beat her to it, blade pointed at her throat before her dagger even neared his armor. "Well done, Commander." She panted, picking up her daggers and smiling, waltzing off towards the stairs that lead into Skyhold's dining hall.
He could see her fist clenched tightly as she walked inside, though his focus was soon pulled away as Cassandra informed him that he had recruits to watch over. The circle tha had formed around the Inquisitor and himself during their spar soon dispersed, some heading into the tavern, some lingering around the bottom of the steps, some even following the Inquisitor inside. Cullen returned his attention to his men, and women, instructing them to choose sparring partners and begin practicing.
-
Ellaneya barely made it into the veranda before collapsing, daggers tumbling to the floor next to her. "Solas...what's happening?" She asked the mage, golden eyes brimming with tears as he rushed over. Of course Dorian heard the commotion, and stopped his reading, rushing down the stairs to Ellaneya and Solas.
"The anchor is spreading," he said, looking to Ellaneya first, eyes scanning her hand and arm, then looking up towards Dorian. "Help me get her over there." The elf nodded towards the couch, taking hold of her legs as Dorian looped his arms under hers. The two males stepped over her fallen daggers, placing her on the sofa gently before Solas set to work on stabilizing the anchor.
-
Ellaneya didn't remember falling asleep, didn't remember waking up to walk across the bridge to Cullen's quarters, didn't even remember climbing the ladder or snuggling into the blankets that were warm with the sun's rays. She did, however, remember Cole walking in, trying to help her, trying to ease the pain. He'd even brought her favorite chocolate cake in hopes of making her feel better.
She couldn't say no to the cake, even if she wasn't hungry. After all the trouble Cole must've gone through with the cook to get the cake, she couldn't say no. So the tan elf ate the piece, picking at it with her right hand, the unmarked hand. Cole took the plate away when she was done, only so he could lean in and hug her. "Warm, nice, smells like elfroot and dawn lotus. Soft, inviting, yet ruthless and tough," he pulled back, picking at his thumbs. "Hugs make you feel better, or...they used to... do they not anymore?"
He was so innocent, so...so pure, she just had to smile, had to move the white hair from the pale boy's face. "It's different this time, Cole, this time it's my hand, the mark...not...not because I-"
"Not because you killed someone," he finished for her, eyes glimmering in the noon light. Ellaneya winced as he said it, hating the fact that she had to do it. "I want to help. To make you feel better," he paused and looked towards the door. "They're all worried. 'Where is the Inquisitor?', 'Is Lady Lavellan all right? She doesn't normally miss lunch...', 'Maker's breath...where is she? Is she hurt? Oh, maker, I told her to keep off of the battlements, if she fell and hurt herseld...I don't know what I'd do...'." Cole read through the people of Skyhold, going through each one of her companions and advisors.
"Hey, Cole?" She asked, voice timid, quite, just above a whisper.
"Yes?"
"Can you stay here until Cullen gets back? In case...in case the mark starts hurting again?"
-
"Twisting. Burning. Hurting," Cole sat in the corner of the commander's office, legs crossed and hands picking at the splintering wood on the floor. "She can't move it, her hand. It hurts to even hold her daggers now." The pale boy looked up to the loft where Cullen's bed was, where Ellaneya, the small dalish elf of the Lavellan clan now known as the Inquisitor, lay with knees tucked into her chest, marked hand clenched almost as hard as her teeth were, as the pain surged throughout her arm.
Cullen had gotten back early from training some of the Inquisitions recruits when he saw Cole sitting in the corner of his office. The former Templar should've been mad, should've told whatever Cole was to get out of his office, but the boy spoke before Cullen could even let out a sigh. "What do you mean?" He asked, placing his papers down on the corner of his desk to follow the blank stare Cole gave towards his loft.
Cole's silver eyes looked at Cullen, hands still playing with splintered bits of wood. "The Inquisitor," he stood, footsteps silent as he padded around in circles. "Clenched fist, tucked knees. A burning pain. 'Make it stop, make it stop. I never asked for this!'" His eyes darkened with something Cullen could only describe as fear, and pain. That's when he began climbing the ladder, reaching the top in record time as he hauled himself up over the edge.
Cullen saw her there, curled up into a ball so small he probably wouldn't have seen her had he not been looking for her. All that was visible from under the blanket was the tip of a pointed ear, and a few strands of brown hair. One of the doors closed with a quiet click, and Cullen assumed it was Cole taking his leave.
-
The bed dipped with the weight of someone sitting down beside her, causing Ellaneya to shift ever so slightly towards the figure next to her. The elf knew who it was even before he sat down. She knew who it was before he spoke to Cole. The smell of oakmoss, elderflower, and a tinge of sweat filled the room along with the faint clunking of armor; Ellaneya knew then that it was Cullen who had entered through the door that faced the veranda.
The tan brunette peaked her head up over the blanket, eyes almost glowing with the dimming light. Lips turning up into a faint smile once her eyes locked with his. "Ma vhenan," her voice was soft, gentle, but not weak. Cullen knew she was anything but weak, he'd learned that after their very first sparring match, which she won, though Cullen insisted she only won thanks to her Rouge-ish tricks. She had him pinned to thr ground within two minutes, not even a drop of sweat along her brow. It was odd that sje lost today, unusual thay she hadnt pulled but two tricks on him. "What brings you back so early?" Ellaneya looked through the hole in Cullen's roof, golden eyes adjusting to the setting sun with ease, pupils expanding once she turned back to him.
Cullen moved a few strands of sweat-soaked hair from her face, tracing her light vallaslin with his thumb. The calloused skin was warm against her face, and she understood that he know knew. "Please don't act like you're alright. Let me help you...it's the least I could do for you." He mumbled, and she knew what he was referring to, though he didn't have to say it. She had helped him numerous time during his dizzy spells, or headaches. Ellaneya had even helped him bathe and eat on the days when his body refused to cooperate.
"Cullen, I'm-"
"You realize you're a poor liar, right? It's not hard to tell that you're in pain. Not when your fist is clenched, your hair matted down with what I assume is sweat, and your eyes clouded over and darker than they usually are," His brow was furrowed, lips forming a frown. Not the same frown he gave his soldiers, no, this one made her feel guilty for trying to hide it. "Solas and Dorian also informed me of the incident in the veranda. You slept through lunch, you know, that was also something that I noticed."
It was then when her facade broke, the tears that she'd been holding back most of the day finally fell, and she let out a single sob before resting her head between Cullen's warm neck, and cool armor. The anchor pulsed once, twice before fading out, the stinging, burning sensation leaving her hand numb and limp. "It hurts, it hurt so badly, Cullen," strong arms wrapped around her pulling her closer, but not squishing her between him and the armor he wore. "It burns as if you were holding your hand over an open flame for too long, only it's inside. Inside my veins and under my skin, it feels worse than a dragon's claws scrapping down your back." Ellaneya sniffed, and tried to move her left arm up around his neck, only resulting in a bolt of pain, and a loud hiss.
So instead of heading down to the dining hall, they sat there, his armor scattered throughout the upper level, and her boots and jacket on the floor beside the bed. Instead of reporting to the war table they simply lay there on his bed, starring up at the stars through his broken roof, legs tangled and bodies close.
-
It had been two weeks now; two weeks since Cullen began helping Ellaneya with her hand. First by moving one finger at a time, by tracing patterns and letters on paper, soon by folding her hands and holding his. Then by gripping things, getting down the ladder by herself and holding her daggers, by thumb wrestling, and by punching the dummies by the tavern.
She drummed her fingers on the war table, or on the stone as she passed through the battlements and corridors. Ellaneya harvested her plants, starting with the easier things like elfroot, and embrium. Then to spindleweed, and blood lotus.
Cullen helped her regain the strength in her arm, helped her get through the strained muscles and sore bones. He traced the mark, starting at the tips of her fingers, and working his way up her arm. It had spread, Solas had been right, it was now halfway up her forearm. But she made it through, was making it through.
And she would make it through for as long as he lived, though he might not be a Templar anymore, and though he didn't need to make anymore vows than he had already, he vowed to protect and help her for as long as he drew breath.