"oh there's nothing we dashing, handsome, trained-for-exactly-this templars can do about all these demons. but there's nothing in the rules about NOT letting strangers walk in to the tower and start slaughtering people for us! surely the fantasy scooby gang who randomly showed up will succeed where we, a small anti-magic army, failed. no i don't see a problem with this why are you glaring at me? do you want me to bother helping you with darkspawn or not?"
I loved Greg Bear's Forerunner novels, they really made me fall in love with the Didact to my surprise (former Didact hater here). His romance with the Librarian was so bitter-sweet and heartbreaking. Ive got to get my hands on Epitaph this year, my heart is gonna hurt >_<
Broken Circle quickly become my comfort read, I think I reread it four or five times. The audiobook is also an absolute standout, narration is phenomenal. G'torik is my absolute king, and the adventures of the Ussans just make me want more stories about them! The shanshayum were also interesting for the first time ever. My eyes have always glazed over at their presence in the past but this was downright fascinating.
Legacy of Onyx is perhaps the biggest surprise. There were such intresting little family dramas going on amounst the Sangheili, and the concept of pacifist sanghelli was deeply fascinating. I'll admit I wasnt fond of the children or our main character at first, but gosh darn it Matt you made me really care about them. Also Sasha Hilot is officially the coolest Sangheili ive seen yet that ISNT a warrior.
I did give Fall of Reach another read again for that sweet sweet John angst. Love watching him suffer and be horribly traumatised, just running around like this is fine I have a good grade in being a child soldier :) which is both normal to want and possible to achieve :)
Update: I've since got my own copy of broken circle :3
Here is part one (of three) of my @rutherfest contribution!
For the prompt past, present and future.
Rating: M (for Broken Circle events)
Pairings: Minor Amell/Cullen, Cullen/Trevelyan, Amell/Alistair
Summary:
With passion'd breath does the darkness creep.
It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep.
-Transfigurations 1:5
Snapshots of Cullen and Amell, from the Circle and beyond.
Read under the cut or here AO3
these are the threads that bind us
Cullen kneels before Andraste’s statue, heart racing.
In only a handful of hours he will fully join the ranks of the Templars; his life will never be the same. When dawn breaks his vigil will end and with it his training. From here on out, until the day he dies, his life belongs to the Maker and the Order; he will live and die in their service.
It is a moment of pride yes, but a humbling one as well. The Maker has judged him worthy and Cullen swears he will live up to his vows. He will protect the innocent, he will strike down the wicked, he will help all those that need it.
Templars have a sacred duty and he will not falter.
Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.
In their blood the Maker 's will is written.
-
Past
Cullen walks into the library and it’s quiet, only a handful of apprentices working quietly. They ignore him as he makes his way through the room, eyes peeled for trouble he has little expectation of finding. Kinloch Hold is a fairly quiet place; there hasn’t been anything too troublesome to deal with in the few years since his knighthood. But then, unlike some of his fellow Templars, Cullen never expected much trouble.
Mages aren’t bad people, they merely carry a heavy burden. They don’t want trouble anymore than anyone else and though some things will always go wrong, overall he has never understood the harsh way certain trainers spoke of them and their magic. Are there wicked mages? Surely, but there are wicked people amongst non-mages too. So long as the templars are here to keep those mages who wish to cause harm in check and to protect the rest from a population that doesn’t understand them, things should be alright. There is no need for fear and hatred. They are all the Maker’s children.
Cullen passes another bookshelf and stops abruptly, legs locked in place. Across the aisle, standing on her tip toes and reaching for a book far too high for her fingers, is Amell. A fluttering begins in his belly as he looks at her, eyes unable to pull away. She strains higher but still can’t reach and Cullen is moving without thought.
“This one?” he asks, gauntleted hand brushing the cloth spine he thinks she was reaching for. He is just behind her, close enough that breathing makes her scent of magic and ink flood his senses. She looks up at him leaning over her, big green eyes widening. And then she smiles.
Amell’s smile always makes him think of sunrise, warm and radiant and–Cullen feels his face grow hot with embarrassment.
“Oh, Ser Cullen! Yes, thank you,” she says, voice honey-sweet. Cullen burns hotter still and pulls down the book. He steps back from her, that fluttering climbing its way through his whole body. Amell beams as he hands her the book, eyes sparkling like emerald stars.
“Thank the Maker you’re here! I never would’ve reached on my own,” she says and Cullen can barely keep his hand from jumping nervously to the back of his neck.
“It was–It’s nothing. I’m glad to help,” he stutters, tongue struggling to form words as she smiles so widely in his direction. Amell looks down, almost as if shy. Cullen’s stomach does somersaults.
“Still, I’m grateful. You’re always helping, you have to be the loveliest templar I’ve ever met.” Her voice is soft, gentle but nervous and Cullen isn’t sure he can speak. Amell twists a piece of loose hair around her finger.
“Well, I should get back to work. Thank you again, Ser Cullen,” she says and Cullen nods, mouth very dry.
“Of course, Apprentice Amell. You’re very welcome,” he manages and she heads to a nearby table.
He looks at her just once more before he continues his patrol, bent over her book with ink stains on her sleeves. There is a small, secret smile curling her mouth, one Cullen feels on his own lips.
Nothing will ever come of it, nothing ever could, but that smile…he’ll carry that smile with him.
-
The demon wearing Amell’s face smiles, but it is cold, sharp, a razor wielded with terrible skill.
“Oh Cullen,” it breathes in his ear, hot and desperate. “How long I’ve wanted you.”
“No,” he says, voice shaking. “No.” He bows his head and prays again, for strength, for deliverance, for an end to this torment. The demon’s hands run over his arms, its body, so soft and shaped like Amell’s, presses in too close and he shudders.
“I know you want me too,” it purrs, a mockery and a taunt. The one thing he cannot have, the one thing that haunts his dreams and now a demon is here with poisoned lips.
“No, leave me, demon! I want nothing from you!” he says and demon-Amell laughs, not bright and warm, but ice cold and cruel.
“I’ll be back, I’ll always come back for you.”
Cullen’s eyes open and he breathes heavily, the demon gone but the torment far from over. Gareth beside him screams, clawing at his face until the skin starts to peel away. Cullen gags and tries not to look, but nothing can quiet Gareth’s agony or his fear.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything, please, please, I’ll do anything,” Magalie cries from Cullen’s other side, her words slurring together and her eyes unfocused.
Others trapped in the chamber are screaming, someone is retching and Magalie’s words grow closer together, an incomprehensible frenzy spilling from her mouth. Morwan bashes her head against the floor, over and over again, her bones cracking and blood leaking all over the stones. Cullen presses his clasped hands to his forehead.
“Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder.”
“I’m back, my lovely,” Amell’s twisted up voice whispers, hands sliding down his chest to his groin. “Give in to our desires, let me give you everything you want.”
“Through blinding mist, I climb a sheer cliff, the summit shrouded in fog, the base endlessly far beneath my feet. The Maker is the rock to which I cling.”
-
Amell stands before him, no longer a vision or a demon wearing her skin. She seems smaller than he remembers.
Her hair is half undone from its braided bun, there is dirt smudged on her cheek and blood on her chin. Her robes are tattered and ruined, burnt and bloody. And she is staring at him.
Cullen wants her to stop, wants those eyes and that face to be anywhere else. But it’s here. She’s here.
“Oh, Cullen,” she starts, voice soft and anguished and there is something ill in his stomach, knotting and heaving against his belly.
“Are you–” she never finishes the question, Cullen cutting her off.
“There is much to do, Warden. I have no time for chatting.” His voice is harsh, his words bitter and Amell flinches, her hands tightening around her staff. He wants to smash it.
“I…I’m sorry,” she says and he could scream.
Gareth’s face is fleshless and still his hands claw at it, gore painting his gauntlets. A mage with luminous eyes watches, his smile eager. Morwan beats her skull against the stone until she collapses, a pulpy mess of blood and brains left behind. The demons crowd in closer, feeding on their fear, their pain, their horror. Bennick sobs as he runs his sword through Amerson, “They promised to be quiet if I did, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Amell is draped over Cullen like a second skin, her fingers under his armour and her lips on his jaw.
“Mine, all mine,” she hisses. “All. Mine.”
“Those mages you saved, they will be the death of us all,” he spits and Amell takes a step back. “How long before the demons lingering under their skin break loose? How long before they succumb to the same temptations Uldred and his allies did? Your “help” has condemned us all!”
“Cullen,” she whispers and he needs her to stop, needs her to leave. The man she’d brought with her places a hand on her shoulder, eyes hot with anger as they look at Cullen. Amell’s eyes are wet with tears; there is bile in Cullen’s throat, blood on his tongue. Memories dig into his skull, pick at his flesh and she is the face of it all.
“I was wrong to believe you, or any mage, deserved compassion. You have proven me wrong,” he continues, misery and fury burning him alive.
“She saved your life!” the man, a warden perhaps, snaps and Cullen’s skin is crawling off his bones.
“Mages are fire made flesh and a demon asleep,” he says, a saying he’d foolishly discounted before. But his eyes have finally been opened. “Now leave, mage , and damn us with your presence no longer.”
There are tears on her cheeks, sorrow etched into her face and Cullen turns from her. Her companion shouts after him, but Cullen ignores it. He was a fool to trust mages, to believe they wanted to do good. Uldred and his allies had proven how deep the corruption within mages went and Amell had proven how no mage could be trusted to do what needed to be done.
Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.
