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[ CLOSED ] I'm in here, can anybody see me?
WHO: Cade, Nerva, Zevran
WHAT: Discussing some delicate details
WHEN: After Zevran Returns from Antiva
WHERE: Cade's Room
NOTES: Self flagellation, flogging as therapy (kind of), vaguely BDSM lifestyle related setup.
WHAT: Discussing some delicate details
WHEN: After Zevran Returns from Antiva
WHERE: Cade's Room
NOTES: Self flagellation, flogging as therapy (kind of), vaguely BDSM lifestyle related setup.
Nerva's idea, truly, to meet Cade in his room. To discuss this where he would either feel his most safe or his most Vulnerable- Zevran honestly could not say. He kept to the shadows out of habit and followed along behind her as she made her way to the door, as she knocked and was given leave to enter by the Tranquil that tended Cade night and day.
Zevran slipped in afterward, standing off to the side, silent and unobtrusive.

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...that way.
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Not terrible, but he would have rather he'd seen this back when the welts were fresh.
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He gazed out the small window in the meantime, watching the birds cavort over the rooftops of the cloister.
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It was already evening. Might as well get it over with, since he'd never be able to sleep if they waited.
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As best he could tell? No one disturbed the set up.
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When he arrived at the empty tower fifteen minutes later, he felt oddly light of spirit, despite what he knew was coming. This was the first time in months he'd been allowed to walk alone, and the freedom of something so simple, so easily taken for granted, was exhilarating. He gave a quiet knock when he arrived at the door, and glanced around the nearby battlements and below to make sure no one was paying attention. From what he could tell, they weren't.
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"Do you remember the rules we established last time?"
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Under the assumption that he would be expected to say them aloud, Cade cleared his throat and recited, "I'll say 'stop' if it's too much. And I have to take a potion at the end." The salve was an option too, but he was wary of that level of closeness, even if the reason was ostensibly medicinal.
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"You have your choice for what we use tonight." All leather or polished wood, well broken in and laid out in a neat row.
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"...you should choose," he said quietly, "it was you I wronged."
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"Against the wall, as before." It worked well enough last time, took Cade somewhere he needed to go.
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When instructed to do so, he rose to his feet, carefully removed his shirt as he had before (he hadn't worn a doublet this time, too much hassle), and folded it onto the seat of the chair. Arms folded over his middle, he crossed to the wall, put his hands on it, and waited.
He found that he was shivering again, as he had the first time. This was easier to think about than it was to do, and now that he was here he couldn't help being a little afraid.
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Of course, he only had as long as it took for the second strike to land to consider this, and though he flinched again, he gritted his teeth and endured it without a sound.
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One day that might change, but today was not that day.
"Cade?"
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By one of his own men. While several others, mad with red lyrium, watched him go down. They'd jeered, relished in the brutalizing of their commanding officer, who had made the mistake of trying to rein them in. They left him beaten in the tall grass, armor dented, breathless, almost more humiliated than injured.
He had killed them. At least the ones who the apostates didn't get to first. He had no memory of what happened, only that it had.
He was standing in the Hinterlands, covered in blood and viscera, being bludgeoned over and over by an unseen source, taking it because he was smaller and couldn't overpower it.
It had only taken several seconds for him to become almost completely unresponsive, shifting from gasps of pain to just... nothing, at least beyond the hitching of breath that came naturally from the force to his back. He was gone, but not where Zevran had wanted him to go.
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That was a response he knew. That was what he did when he went somewhere else to not endure. Punishment this might be, but Cade was not the only one that could use the word to stop. With the insistence that he not actually touch Cade- all he had was his voice.
Low, gentle, coaxing- he spoke. "Cade? Where are you right now?"
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He was ill prepared for the latter but he could not leave it like this.
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"My men," he hesitantly answered, his fingers tightening their grip over his face, digging into his hairline and temples. He took a deep, shuddering breath and sighed it out, at least distantly comforted by the fact that someone was speaking to him.
At the time, it had been Alayre. The Knight-Commander had dismounted, given Cade water, helped him deal with the rest, then sent him back to Skyhold to meet his destiny there. But this didn't sound like Alayre, and it began to occur to Cade that perhaps he was not, in fact, in the Hinterlands.
He slowly lowered his hands to gaze ahead at the wall, blinking rapidly, finding his presence again in the dark stonework.
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"Where are you? Who are you with?"
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