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Chapter: 47
Author name: ShannaraIsles
Rating: M
Warnings: None
Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?
Maybe Not
Why was it that the one day when she needed time to speak to Cullen, neither of them had time to spare?
Detaining Movran the Under had resulted in several injuries, some of them serious. So even when Cullen returned to his office, there was no leisure to speak to him. Instead, Rory had been engaged in stitching and bandaging wounds inflicted by a massive axe. Even when that was done, her time was filled - Josephine came looking for her to insist she met with a frilly Orlesian seamstress who had to be sworn to silence on the subject of Rory's condition by means of some fairly detailed threats. Then a runner had come from Evy to report that several of the recently wounded soldiers were burning up with fevers. By the time she had them stable, most of Skyhold was sleeping. Out of energy, Rory had curled up in the nearest unoccupied bedroll and joined the rest of the fortress in slumber.
But this morning, there'd been no sign of Cullen. She'd woken late, almost missing breakfast, and assumed she'd missed his early morning drills with Blackwall and Bull. It wasn't as though she was deliberately avoiding him, either - she'd simply lacked the energy to go to the tower and sleep there last night, that was all. It was only when she overheard a runner reporting to Rylen with something that clearly should have gone to Cullen that she suspected anything was amiss.
"All right, why are you doing his job today?" she asked her friend rather bluntly.
Rylen frowned in confusion. "Didn't you know?" he asked in turn. "He's laid up with one of his heads. First one for months."
Rory felt herself growl in concerned annoyance. "No, I didn't know." She sighed irritably. Why am I always the last to know when he's in pain? "Has anyone checked on him, do you know?"
The captain shook his head. "We're under orders not to disturb him until he comes out himself," he admitted. "Thought they came from you, to be fair."
"Well, it's good advice, but I had no idea," she told her Starkhaven friend. "Right. Thank you for telling me." I'm going to have to make Evy take charge again. It didn't seem fair, especially after she'd slipped off so much yesterday, too.
As it turned out, Evy was ahead of her, quite happy to send her off to attend the commander with an extortion to look after herself as well. Her friends really did know her too well by now. She paused briefly in the tent to collect a few bits and pieces she thought she might need and, as an afterthought, stopped by the kitchens on her way to the tower. Jim was enlisted to spread the word that the commander was not to be disturbed; also that his tower was off-limits until tomorrow, regardless of whether they saw him about for the rest of the day. Since the order came from the senior healer, she didn't think anyone would disobey, and she could make certain that Cullen did as he was told for once. That done, she climbed the steps to the tower, and let herself in.
It was unnervingly quiet in there. Though the sounds of Skyhold filtered in, they were muted - probably not enough not to bother Cullen, though. Rory bit her lip, moving to climb the ladder up to the next level of the tower. There he was, half-dressed, stretched out on the bed, holding a folded blanket over his face. Light is giving him trouble, then. Gently setting her satchel down, she wasn't surprised to see him tense at the sound of her movement.
"It's Rory," she told him softly, ever so slightly ashamed of how pleased she was to see him relax at that news. He did stiffen, his arms moving to remove the blanket from his face. "No, stay there," she added, her voice only just above a whisper. "I'll see what I can do about the light."
Of course, it would be easier to do that without the dirty great hole in the roof, but needs must ... Opening up her satchel, Rory set about securing blankets over the windows. A few minutes of thinking about what she had to work with provided her with a better solution for the light over the bed. The sunlight through the roof wasn't touching the bed yet, but it would in a few hours. She'd never done this with broken planks before, but within twenty minutes, she had constructed a sort of stunted teepee over the bed itself with the plethora of fallen debris and blankets she had begged off Eustace, the quartermaster. It wasn't pretty, and a stiff breeze would probably bring it down on top of them, but it blocked out the majority of the light. That was what mattered.
Crawling inside, she settled herself to sit beside him on the bed, gentle fingers touching his hand. "All right, love, you can relax now."
He groaned quietly, the sound more frustrated by his pain than suffering with it, hesitantly lowering the folded blanket from his closed eyes. "That's ... better," he murmured, one hand reaching to find hers.
She let him tangle his fingers with her own, trying to curb her impatience. She wanted to get him dosed and comfortable, but she understood that he needed her not to rush. He needed a gentle moment to absorb that he wasn't suffering through this alone this time. As much as she would have liked to have known he was in pain sooner than this, she understood that he had a need to deal with it alone, a desire to protect her from seeing him as weak and vulnerable. They were going to have to work on that, she realized. This was a man who would take on a screaming baby while experiencing a migraine, just to give her a few hours to herself.
"Where does it hurt?" she asked him softly, wincing as the sound of her voice made him grimace in pain.
"Both sides," was his strained murmur in response. His fingers tightened on hers before allowing her to pull away.
She rummaged in her satchel for the little vial of witherstalk and poppy. "Open your mouth and lift your tongue," she instructed, very carefully letting one drop fall past his lips. "Relax."
It tasted utterly revolting, as she could testify, but it was the strongest painkiller she had. Under the tongue was the fastest way she had to administer it. As Cullen swallowed in sore disgust, she wet a cloth with cold water, wrung it out, and laid it gently across his forehead. He sighed, his fingers tangling with hers once again as he relaxed back against the bed. Now all she could do was wait.
Patience had never been one of Rory's virtues. She got easily bored when she had nothing to fill her time, and boredom had been known to lead her over lines that weren't meant to be crossed. Sitting here now, enveloped in the gloom of her makeshift blanket fort and held where she was by the gentle weight of Cullen's hand in hers, she couldn't even try reading the book on his bedside ... barrel. He has a barrel for a bedside table. Her eyes swept, unbidden, to the other side of the bed, the side she knew he would insist was hers. No barrel there, oh no. Instead, there was a small table with a lockable drawer, something you would expect to find beside a bed. Yet it was on her side, when he knew she kept everything of value she owned in her belt. Was he hoping she might settle more happily in this tower with him if he made sure all the good furniture was hers?
Unprompted, her mind turned to other wonderings. They would need more than a ladder to access this level in just a few months; perhaps even a decent set of stairs. There were windows, yes, but they weren't big enough to counter his sometimes acute claustrophobia. Perhaps she could negotiate with him - having the roof repaired in exchange for knocking a large window into the wall that faced the keep. There was no hearth or chimney in the tower; they would need a brazier to warm the air. Was it possible to buy Branka's smokeless coal from Orzammar? Maybe Josephine would know. The room was big, certainly, big enough to house a couple and an infant so long as they made it properly habitable ... and Rory realized that, for all her panic, there were some things she was looking forward to seeing.
Cullen holding his child, lulling them to sleep in his arms; making room for a toddler in the bed; playing silly games just to see them smile. She had no doubt he would be a wonderful father, if a little prone to overprotective sanctions from time to time. It was only too easy to imagine him arming a son or daughter with a wooden sword, teaching them how to slay the dragons of their imagination; soothing their hurts with love and sympathy; falling asleep with them sprawled over his chest. And the harbinger of all those dreams was with them already, busily doing the growing thing in her womb.
It was a strange sort of comfort to hold against her deepest fear - that if she wasn't here to stay, then at least she would leave a piece of herself with him. He wouldn't be plunged back into isolation if he had a child to care for. He'd have hope, no matter what happened to her. And that made all the difference.
Eventually, his breathing evened out, his pulse growing slower and steadier beneath her fingers, betraying his lapse into painless sleep. Smiling in relief, Rory gently untangled her hand from his, yawning herself as she took the by-now warm cloth from his forehead. He rolled into the middle of the bed, half-curled, pressing his face into the pillow as the sleep that had clearly eluded him last night enfolded him with much-needed peace. He was so vulnerable when he slept, that guarded edge to his expression swept away to let the boy buried so deeply inside shine through. That boy, that man, had been through so much, and yet somehow retained the hope that order and justice could be restored to the world around him. She wished that hope could be fulfilled. She wanted to protect him from the revelations that were coming - Samson, the Grey Wardens, Solas. Yet all she could do was be here, now, and hope it was enough.
After a moment's thought, she shucked off her boots, sliding into the bed to press herself to his back, her arm wrapped protectively about his wait. He needed this peace. Even if the demons came, she'd be here to help him fight them, gathered close against his back. Protecting him from whatever came his way.
She stirred from sleep hours later, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other hand pressed to the mattress, her fingers enveloped in the heat of someone else's hand. Sleepy eyes opened to the rhythm of a slow waking breath, a tender smile curving her lips as she found herself face to face with her handsome commander. His face was still flushed from sleep, whisky-lit eyes just a little unfocused, a testament to how recently he had woken himself. He watched her silently, thrilling her with the tender love in his gaze, giving her the time she needed to fully wake before shifting just a little closer to brush the tip of her nose with a kiss.
"You let me sleep all day," he accused in a fond whisper, his hand leaving hers to stroke flyaway strands of hair from her brow.
"Not all day," she whispered back, certain of this only because her bladder wasn't screaming to be emptied. "Most of the afternoon, yes."
"It's dark," he pointed out, bemused when she laughed softly.
"I made a tent out of blankets," she told him through her smile. "I'm pretty sure it's lighter than this outside them."
Cullen rolled to his back, inspecting the quality of the gloom for a long moment. "Why set a tent over the bed?" he asked, rolling back to face her.
"It was easier than trying to block the hole." She raised her shoulder in a shrug, pleased when he huffed out a slightly incredulous laugh. Her hand rose from the bed between them, her palm curling to his cheek to let her fingers play at his temple. "You should have let me know you were in pain."
He sighed regretfully. "I didn't want to disturb you," he admitted softly. "You worked so late last night, you didn't come to bed. I can master this."
Rory rolled her eyes. Stubborn man. "For the record, even if I've been awake for a week, I want to know if you're in pain," she told him, quiet but fierce. "There's no need for you to suffer in silence."
For a moment, she thought he might argue with her. His expression flickered, too fast to make sense of, finally settling into a resigned smile as he took her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. "Duly noted," was his answer, spoken as gently as he touched her. "And speaking of silence ... what was it you wanted to tell me yesterday?"
And there it was, the opening she would be an idiot to ignore. Perhaps it was the privacy, perhaps it was the comfortable stillness wrapped about them, but all her carefully prepared words disappeared from her mind. All that was left was the stark truth. "I'm pregnant."
Cullen stilled, his soft gaze sharpening in the wake of her words. "What?"
Rory bit her lip, anxiety blossoming once again as he stared her down. "I'm pregnant," she repeated anxiously. "I think about two months gone."
His gaze didn't soften. Shock covered his features, all the panic and worry she had felt written plain over his face. He dropped her hand, rolling heavily onto his back to gaze up at the canopy of blankets in absolute silence. Rory felt a small piece of her heart crack. She didn't know what to do, what she could possibly say to soften the blow she had delivered. And a small voice inside was demanding that he man up and accept responsibility. He was just as culpable as she was, after all. But the silence dragged on, the stillness more pronounced, the space between them feeling like an ocean.
"I'm sorry," she heard herself offer, her voice wavering on the edge of tears. "I know it's bad timing, I know it's not what you want, but you knew as well as I did there was a chance it could happen. Being angry won't change that."
"I'm not."
She blinked, startled by how calm he sounded. "Not what?"
"Angry." Cullen rolled toward her again, his eyes shining in the gloom. He's crying? "Or sorry. You're well? Nothing's wrong?"
Her slightly resentful incredulity over his calm reaction when she was twisted up in knots with anxious uncertainty may have fueled her response. "Apart from the fact that there are three people in this bed, I'm fine," she protested sarcastically. "Why aren't you angry? This is terrible timing!"
To her utter shock, he actually chuckled, smoothing his hand over her hip to drag her close, into a slow kiss. "I love you," he murmured to her, nose to nose as he gazed into her eyes. "Maker knows, I have never loved anyone the way I love you. If I could choose any woman in the world to be my wife, I would ask for you."
Relief flooded through her, adding to the already unbalanced swing of her emotional state as she staggered wildly between everything she could possibly feel and more. "I love you," she answered softly, despite the shake in her voice. "I was ... wait." She drew back as her brain caught up with her ears, suspicion making itself know through the turmoil broiling inside her. "Wife?"
"Of course," Cullen assured her with a confused frown. "We are getting married, aren't we?"
The sheer audacity of the assumption slammed headlong through her mixed up emotions, and anger responded the loudest. "I don't know," she replied in a hard tone. "Were you going to ask me?"
"The child deserves parents who share a name, Rory," he reasoned, apparently oblivious to what was wrong with this statement in the circumstances.
Her hand pressed against his chest, putting space between them as her brows knitted in defensive annoyance. "Is my being pregnant the only reason you want to get married?"
He somehow missed the warning in her tone and expression, answering her without thinking. "It's one of the main reasons to get married."
"Right."
As anger flared behind her eyes at the instant assumption that all he saw in her was a womb bearing fruit, Rory rolled away from him, slithering off the bed to grab her boots. She'd been careening from one emotion to the next for a day and half now, and this was not the conversation she'd wanted to find herself in.
She heard him shift on the bed behind her. "What's wrong?"
Yanking her boots firmly onto her feet with more force than was really necessary, she glared at him over her shoulder. "If you really need me to answer that question, then this is a conversation we're not ready to have," she informed him angrily.
"What did I say?" he asked, sounding hurt by her anger. She felt a wave of guilt crash through her, mingling with the anxiety, the anger, the hope, the panic. She knew she was being irrational, but she couldn't stop.
Twisting, she looked up at him, trying to be calm. "If I wasn't pregnant, would you have asked me to marry you?"
Cullen Rutherford, master strategist, made a fatal mistake. He hesitated. "Well, I ..."
"Wrong answer." Rising to her feet, Rory crawled out from under the blankets, and gave the nearest support for her stunted teepee a damned good kick. "My worth is in who I am, Cullen Rutherford, not in what I can incubate!"
She could hear him swearing as the blankets collapsed in on top of him, giving her enough time to climb down the ladder before he got free. She ignored his yell of her name as she stormed through the nearest door and across the walkway in the later afternoon sun. She barely heard Dorian call to her as she crossed the rotunda, a confusion of angry tears streaming down her face. The nobles in the hall didn't even glance at her before she was across the main hall and into the cloistered garden. Sniffling, she jogged up the steps to the sheltered balcony, chose a corner, and slumped down onto her backside in a hail of guilty, angry, hurt sobs. So much for a happy ending. How the hell do I apologize for this?
