[ But the answer is fraught with self-doubt and a wavering voice, which she struggles to control. The past ten years have been painful and she has abandoned everything about her former life. Even becoming the Warden-Commander has forced her to leave behind her name and who she was, even for people like Oghren. It's been a struggle to pretend to be someone else. To come clean now, to leave her heart on the table for people to see, is almost too much.
He steps towards her and she holds her ground, waiting for...something. If it was anyone else - the Inquisitor, one of the other Wardens, Irving, anyone else - she might have braced herself for something, for anger and yelling, for even violence. But not from Cullen. There is pain in his expression and that, too, is her fault. Her expression truly crumbles now, sympathy answering distress, and she waits for him to berate her for what she's done. She would deserve it.
And he doesn't.
Neria looks up at him and, in the uncertain silence that follows, she steps towards him. She reaches for his arm, damn propriety, to touch his wrist and vambrace. ]
You were a child, Cullen. So was I.
[ It doesn't excuse either of them. But she understands. What he said to her that day hasn't left her. If Irving hadn't survived, if she hadn't been absolutely certain that he was still in his right mind... Who can say what might have happened? What had been done to Cullen was inexcusable. ]
They...We hurt you. It's all right. It never should have happened. [ And softly, for both of them, she says again: ] I'm sorry.
no subject
[ But the answer is fraught with self-doubt and a wavering voice, which she struggles to control. The past ten years have been painful and she has abandoned everything about her former life. Even becoming the Warden-Commander has forced her to leave behind her name and who she was, even for people like Oghren. It's been a struggle to pretend to be someone else. To come clean now, to leave her heart on the table for people to see, is almost too much.
He steps towards her and she holds her ground, waiting for...something. If it was anyone else - the Inquisitor, one of the other Wardens, Irving, anyone else - she might have braced herself for something, for anger and yelling, for even violence. But not from Cullen. There is pain in his expression and that, too, is her fault. Her expression truly crumbles now, sympathy answering distress, and she waits for him to berate her for what she's done. She would deserve it.
And he doesn't.
Neria looks up at him and, in the uncertain silence that follows, she steps towards him. She reaches for his arm, damn propriety, to touch his wrist and vambrace. ]
You were a child, Cullen. So was I.
[ It doesn't excuse either of them. But she understands. What he said to her that day hasn't left her. If Irving hadn't survived, if she hadn't been absolutely certain that he was still in his right mind... Who can say what might have happened? What had been done to Cullen was inexcusable. ]
They...We hurt you. It's all right. It never should have happened. [ And softly, for both of them, she says again: ] I'm sorry.