when the order was given to capture the grey warden apostate responsible for the destruction of Kirkwall’s chantry, Cullen had little hope in being able to bring Anders to justice. now, however, as the news of his apprehension by the inquisition’s soldiers have reached him through one of Leliana’s scouts, the commander is left vacillating between allowing the inquisitor to judge the apostate as they see fit, or to take justice into own hands and simply leave Anders to rot in Skyhold’s prison. though incredibly frowned upon, the latter option seemed to be so much more attractive, lest the inquisitor decides to recruit this abomination for own purpose. what to do…what to do…
he’s pacing back and forth as if an irate, caged animal whilst the mage insists on talking. noise…noise he needed silence. otherwise he could not think, could not steady own hands that shook, albeit insignificantly, aching to act, to draw his sword and put it to good use. not a bruise, commander. the inquisitor’s words ring hollow and he isn’t even listening any longer. all Cullen could will himself to focus on was the one responsible for so much death and devastation. the city that had suffered tremendous losses…the templar order that he had to rebuild from the ground up Kirkwall was a blood-soaked nightmare and it will take more than one lifetime for the apostate to make up for the crime he had committed.
❝ stop talking. ❞ he intones a curt reply, gaze finally pinned onto the mage and, for the first time in a while, the choler is painted vividly upon his mien, his innermost thoughts laying bare before the other’s feet to say that Cullen Rutherford was ired would be the biggest understatement of the Dragon Age. ❝ you ❞ when nothing else comes, the former templar quietly exhales, hands running through the impeccably styled mane out of sheer frustration, accidentally messing it up in the process. what could he say now? ❝ have you any idea ❞ again he tries. still, nothing. Cullen is no longer pacing back and forth, however, his gaze has not left Anders for a single moment.
It was a natural reflex that such a sharp tone and anger would make the mage all but curl a little into himself. He could feel something tighten I the back of his mind, unsure if it was his own feeling or that of Ven—Justice, either way one of them really didn’t like that.
Either way it was well deserved.
Another sharp twist had him flinching, though this time it wasn’t from the gaze as much as it was the other presence. Angry, still so angry but perhaps in his hearts of hearts he knew that this was the right thing to do. Or… lack of hearts. Whatever it was that spirits had seemed to use to make their so called judgments and choices of actions. Anders could barely make himself heave out a sigh as he leaned back against that pitiful wall. “… Don’t give me that look. You of all people had to have some kind of idea to my character. You know I wouldn’t be locked in this cage if I didn’t want to pay for the things I did.”
Because allowing a madman and murderer a second chance was a mistake and perhaps the most lethal mistake that could have been made. The world turned for the worse, each day Anders had been left to claw at what little of his own sanity remained and to question just what it was that clawed at him from within. And the noise… the constant broken song that played like a faint distant echo in his mind and tingled under the expanse of his skin…
“… I don’t deserve anything but at least tell me one thing.” Amber hues looked up at the other, whatever traces of the mage that had hurled the ball of chaos straight into Kirkwall burned away in such a tired and broken shell. “Your Inquisitor… has a proper head on those shoulders, yes? If I’m to die… I’d like some things honored first for the safety of everyone involved.”