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Images flashed through his mind at a rate too fast to really comprehend what they were. He caught glimpses of people he knew. Josephine, Leliana, Varric, old Templars, some of the newer recruits, Evelyn. Funny how he knew it was her from just a flash of her luscious, black hair or her deep mahogany colored eyes. But he’d be able to pick her out of any crowd no matter how big. IT was like his eyes were drawn to her.
These images were made even worse when he caught the sight of blood covering the floors, the walls, and even parts of the ceiling. Looking around his office, he tried to tell himself this wasn’t real, that he wasn’t looking at the blood of his most beloved. It couldn’t be true. She couldn’t leave him here. Not like this. If she was to die, it had to be in her sleep when she was one hundred years old. Not by some demon that tore her apart when she tried to protect him.
He killed her. He may not have swung the sword, but he pointed it in the right direction. If he hadn’t called her to his office, if he hadn’t started up a romance with her that he knew would have consequences, she’d still be here. How foolish he was to think this relationship would be different, that it wasn’t doomed to fail from the beginning.
The demon had turned his attention to him, and he half wanted to let the demon kill him, too. He couldn’t imagine a life without Evelyn. He didn’t even want to. His chest was heaving at the very thought of it. He swung his sword deftly in his hands before running the sword through the demons chest before pulling it out and slicing its head off for good measure.
Dropping his sword, he fell to his knees. Evelyn was in pieces, and there was nothing to hold onto. She was gone. Forever. He wondered how death could be so final. How life could be so delicate. Slamming his fists on the floor, he sat awkwardly on the floor and wept. Glancing down, he saw his hands were red, red with blood. Her blood. Oh maker, her blood. HE held his hands in front of him and watched as her blood dripped out of his hand and onto the floor. SO much blood. Where was it coming from?
IT was coming from him. IF she was dead, he might as well be.
"Cullen," a soft voice whispered in his ear when he started moaning in pain. When he didn’t wake up, Evelyn’s voice grew more concerned, "Cullen, wake up." She touched his shoulder and shook it gently.
Golden, amber eyes startled open, and at first, he couldn’t focus on anything. All he could see was her blood coating the floors. His hands. But then the haze of the nightmare lessened when her hand found his. He looked up into her eyes and could feel the love pouring out from within them.
"That was a bad one, huh?" her melodious voice broke through his thoughts. He loved the sound of her voice. What he wouldn’t do to listen to it forever. She took her free hand and rubbed his shoulders.
He sat up in bed and noticed the tangle of blankets at the base of the cot and could surmise that he had been thrashing around in his sleep. How many times had he woken up Evelyn because of these terrible nightmares that would never cease to torment him. However, with Evelyn near him, the nightmares came less often than they did while she was away on a mission.
Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. “Yes, it wasn’t particularly good,” he replied. “I’m sorry for waking you up again.”
"Never apologize for this. I want to be here. Let me worry and be here for you," she gave him a small smile, and he leaned into her, pressing his lips to hers.
He brought up his free hand to cup her face and pulled her to him. She repositioned herself so that she could move to straddle him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed as close to him as she could.
How he loved the feel of her. Her skin was weathered, littered with scars and scabs. Her hair smelled like rain and brushed his cheek in a caress. Her lips were chapped but opened willingly to him. If only they could stay here like this forever, but he knew he had to share her with the reset of the world. He pulled back and rested his forehead against his. “Thank you.”
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, wrapping one of his many curls around her finger.
Cullen hesitated. Sometimes it did help to talk about them, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell her everything he had seen in this particular nightmare. But he never kept anything from her. “Once, I was dying…”