faderift | ( closed ) millions and billions and trillions of stars, but I’m down here low

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( closed ) millions and billions and trillions of stars, but I’m down here low

WHO: Herian & Cosima
WHAT: dealing with some bad emotional times
WHEN: post-Anderfels
WHERE: Cosima's quarters, Kirkwall
NOTES: Heads up for discussion of Tranquility, possibly reference to bad stuff that went down in the Anderfels. I'll do a catch-all for more aftermath and general Herian stuff early next month, feel free to prod at me if you'd like something in that and I'll make it happen :]b

The Commander has taken her crystal, so she is not able to grant Cosima much warning of her arrival, save for the heavy fall of her fast against the door. Perhaps Coupe will have contacted Cosima herself, she knows not, and truthfully it is not a thought that occurs to her in any capacity beyond fleeting. As they departed the Anderfels many things have tumbled through her mind, and the closer they drew to Kirkwall, the more consuming Cosima became as an entity. The need to ensure she is alright, that what she saw in the Fade truly was a lie, and then the painful realisation of what she needs to tell her.

Too quick to have allowed a chance for Cosima to respond, she knocks again. "Cosima," she calls through the door, but her voice sounds rough and tired, and she is bracing both of her hands against the stone framing the door, using it to hold herself up.

Her heart doesn't feel like it's layered over the way it had in the Fade, but it is still beating too fast and too slow in turns and feels like it is trying to claw through her ribs.

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"I love you," Cosima points out, clearly wanting to close the distance between them but unsure Herian will let her. "I don't love you because I imagine some perfect, fictional version of you, I love the you that's standing here right now. The you that's still worried about my feelings even when you're in this much pain."

Her knuckles press her lips against her teeth, and after the fingers of her other hands spasm nervously, she rests her hand tentatively against Cosima's side. She barely urges Cosima forward, but she does, no matter how slight the gesture is. (The gesture is slight. The selfishness is not.)

Slowly, she takes a step closer.

She tries to speak, and her voice fails her, before the words stumble out in a quiet rasp. "I love you." And there's more she wants to say, is trying to say, and can't force out. But you deserve better. But you shouldn't be with a monster.

"Talk to me," Cosima urges, gentle but insistent. She moves closer, again reaching to rest her hand on Herian's arm. "Talk to me about what you're angry about. God knows there's no shortage of options, but... I'm listening. I'm here. I'm not running away from this." From you, she doesn't quite add.

The contact makes something in her give way, and where she had just had her hand resting on Cosima's side, now she moves forward, wrapping both arms around Cosima to draw her into a protective, desperate embrace. Her breathing is unsteady and heaving, her skin feels cold, and she presses a kiss to Cosima's shoulder before she can even begin to think of finding words.

"I am a traitor to the mages, and to the elves. I did not stand by the mages during their strike, because— because I thought it was more important to ensure work was carried on to protect the world entire than to allow myself to set duty aside and stand with them. I am human, no matter my elven blood, and I know I am despicable to them for it."

It feels a little like a dam breaking, the danger being that words might just sweep her away and begin to lose their meaning and sense. "The demon showed me terrible things, but I'm—"

She falters, then, and can't find the words, or can't pick them out from the deluge.

Cosima holds Herian tight, as if she can fix anything by her simple refusal to let go. "It isn't your fault," she says, stubbornly, against Herian's shoulder. "Being born isn't betraying anyone, and you didn't tell the mages you'd do one thing and then do something else. You were honest, you did what you thought was right."

She knows she should just listen, probably, but it's hard to let such statements pass unchecked. More than she can manage at the moment.

"Isn't it?"

The question is barely audible, yet hangs as uncomfortably in the air as if she'd shouted it. Her hands are pressed to Cosima's back, plains that are familiar and steadying under her hands. "If not for me, my father would have lived. The diplomacy mission to the Dalish might have gone entirely differently, without a human present. The abomination in the Emprise might have been saved."

She shakes her head, and swallows painfully. "I deserve all the hurts I bear, Cosima, but— labouring under them without collapse is—"

Her breath shudders. "I am so tired."

"Isn't there a way you can rest short of... I wish I'd known." Cosima's voice is quietly plaintive. "It's been this long, and you're carrying all this and I didn't even help."

She eases back, then, very slightly. Only enough to kiss Cosima's forehead. She doesn't really move after that, but murmurs against her skin. "You always helped. You have done more for me than I can even begin to articulate."

It hurts. The thought of not feeling for Cosima as she feels for her hurts, a physical ache that feels how she imagines it might feel to have pieces of the chest crushed and pulled apart in the same moment.

"I should have been honest with you long ago. I should have—" Her voice wavers a moment. "You should never have been bound to something so warped."

She should never have had to deal with the repercussions that were everything Herian had crafted herself into. Tranquility would keep Cosima safer. It would keep everyone safer, but especially Cosima.

"That's not what I meant," she says, holding on to Herian's arm as she moves back. "You aren't warped. You aren't a thing. And if you choose this for yourself, that's your choice. I can't stop you if you've decided. But I've been lied to by someone I was in love with before. That's not the same as what this is."

It still hurts, but it's a different sort of hurt. Herian hiding her anger was so clearly an effort to protect Cosima, not to protect herself. Cosima hates it, but only because of where it's led.

"I'm exactly where I want to be. And I'm not going to stop loving you, even if you do this. You should know that too." Even if Herian was no longer capable of returning her love, it wasn't a tap Cosima could just turn off.

It's a strange, complicated rush of emotion. A mix of joy and disbelief and grief, the soaring happiness of knowing dedicated love and affection to be returned, and a guilty feeling of gravity and the earth beneath her being made unsteady. She had known Cosima's love for her, even if at times she knew herself unworthy of it. There were times when it was an anchor, something to steady and reassure, that helped her push on when burdens threatened to overwhelm her.

Now she does not know what to make of it, cannot decipher if it is wrong to be happy that Cosima loves her, or if she should feel only guilt. Whether she should push her away for Cosima's sake, or if that would only be an injury to both of them.

She bows her head, and brings her hands to rest against Cosima's ribs, gently urging her closer. "I do not know what to do. I don't want to be tranquil, or lose this." Lose you is what she means, and what is far too presumptuous to actually say.

And yet, it could never be so simple. "Am I a coward if I flee what must be done? What is— necessary, and right? I want to do what is right."

The words are quiet, rough whispers. Right is almost lost to hoarseness, and to the difficulty of the word.

She closes the distance willingly, holding Herian tight. Touch has always made more sense to her, felt like a clearer path when discussing emotions and plans could get labyrinthine and circular so easily.

"Did anyone else say that they thought tranquility was the only way forward for you? You said it's your decision, but was it... has anyone encouraged you to pursue it?"

It's an honest question, as far as it goes. Cosima does not have the knowledge to honestly tell Herian whether or not she has anything to worry about. Her gut instinct is that there has to be another way... but there's a lot she doesn't know about magic.

"Commander Coupe denied me at my first mention of it." When she had believed it was the natural conclusion, the inevitable. To have to fight for it makes it so much worse. (Some brittle, wounded part of her wonders if that was Coupe's intent, despite all reason.)

"I can—" Can is not the right word. Can failed to highlight necessity, duty.

"I should send word to Skyhold and request that she be overruled by Commander Cullen. It is a matter beneath his duties, mayhaps, but still one linked to the security of the Kirkwall outpost." (Should still falls short of will, when being here makes the thought of losing the piece of her that can appreciate Cosima, what they have, feel impossible.

The thought makes her kiss Cosima's jaw and her cheek, apologetic and urgent.

"Why do you think Coupe's judgment isn't sound?" It's an honest question. Cosima and Wren aren't exactly close, but Cosima knows her well enough to find her generally disinclined to snap judgments or running unnecessary risks.

Cosima stays tucked against Herian's chest, especially unwilling to give up closeness for now in the face of potentially losing her.

Edited 2018-05-29 16:56 (UTC)

"Because—"

The word hangs in the air, a long, uncomfortable pause behind it, as she grasps desperately for words to fill the space.

"Coupe is— she holds guilt for all the came to pass in the Spire, and that guilt and attachment might stay her hand now despite the necessity. Mayhaps because a mage trained in the Circles is more useful than one of the tranquil."

They do not feel totally satisfactory. "I doubt her because I know I deserve it. I do not deserve—"

To feel joy, to feel all the good things that exist. She does not deserve to feel all that while standing as a risk. "I do not deserve anything more than the dignity of serving the Inquisition."

"That doesn't sound like you're doing this because there's no other way," Cosima observes, quiet. "It sounds like you're doing this to punish yourself."

Herian can tell her she's wrong; Cosima almost seems like she's asking for that. Cosima's willing to listen, at least, either way. But what she isn't willing to do is let Herian make the decision claiming it's the former when it's really the latter.

If Herian feels the need to go forward with this, Cosima knows that's her choice to make. But Cosima feels entitled to ask that Herian not lie -- to either of them -- about why she's doing it.

For long moments, there is just the sound of breath. The weight of Cosima's words are unavoidable. She cannot evade them, cannot craft some clever response. It is a moment of pain and relief mixed together, the strange devastation of having the truth mapped out, and the allaying of needing to gather her thoughts, let alone granting it voice.

That it is to punish herself does not mean that it is not necessary. Perhaps that would only increase the necessity of it, rather than diminish it. And Cosima, she might be too close to her to realise how necessary that punishment is, too willing to believe in her, because she has a good heart, rich with compassion and warmth and humour.

Gently, she nudges Cosima's chin with her finger, crooked, an attempt to bring Cosima to better face her, meaning to lean closer if Cosima indulges the motion. "That does not make it wrong."

Cosima meets Herian's eyes, the two of them only a breath apart. This close, it is impossible to miss that Cosima's eyes are bright with tears.

"Don't. I know I don't have the right to ask it, but please don't leave me like this."

She wants to talk about how there are other ways for Herian to set down her burdens, to ask about penance that might be less permanent or less extreme. There are so many reasonable, calm things to say in this moment, but Cosima is overwhelmed and none of them can make it out of her mouth ahead of her quiet, rough plea for Herian not to go.

There are words needing saying. There are always words needing saying that she fails to speak, it seems. Cosima should know that she does have the right, that what she has to say matters, and yet the words don't find their way.

Instead, she makes a quiet, soothing sound - as soothing as she can manage, when it feels like her own voice is in danger of cracking with the strain of this. One hand cradles Cosima's jaw as the opposite thumb brushes over her cheekbone to smooth away one of the tears. I don't want to leave you feels like such an unhelpful things to say, when it gives no assurances that the departure will not happen, while declaring I won't leave you is a dangerous promise to make.

I can't leave you might be the closest thing to the truth, somehow. I love you would be true no matter which of the others she said.

None of them are said in the scant moments between Cosima pleading, and Herian kissing Cosima with the same fragile desperation that veined Cosima's voice.

Cosima kisses her back, all too aware that this isn't an answer; it isn't even any real assurance of a decision, or the lack of one. She thinks fleetingly of their first kiss, and how it had been laced with the melancholy of Herian's departure then, too, with no assurance that they would ever see one another again.

It feels strange that the risk of losing Herian should so blindside her now, when she hadn't even registered how much she'd come to rely on her. Herian became a steady point to navigate by in a world that often still makes little sense, sometime when Cosima hadn't noticed.

"We can find another way," she murmurs against Herian's jaw, punctuating it with another kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Please."

It's unfair. It hurts so much and it's so unfair, all this. To have someone that she adores so much, who is pleading with her to stay, when it feels like the only way to keep that person safe is to take away all the parts of herself that make her her.

Her arms wrap tighter around Cosima, a gesture that would pull her closer if it were even possible for them to be much closer, pressing kisses to her cheek, her neck.

"I can't risk people— I can't risk you being hurt because of me." Her tone betrays the dilemma, the fact that doing this would hurt Cosima and she knows that, grasps it, and doesn't know which way to turn. "Better I destroy myself first."

"I'm gonna get hurt," Cosima says, point-blank. "You can't make that the measuring stick, Herian, that's not fair. People in the world get hurt, you can't stop that. You leaving would hurt me. You staying but then getting hurt or killed on a mission would hurt me, but I'm not going to ask you not to fight for a better future just because of that risk. I know I'm not a knight or a mage, but we live in a dangerous world and you can't..."

Her fingertips press into Herian's shoulder blades, tight. "If we need to get you some help, if there's precautions we need to take, let's talk about that. But you haven't said anything that makes me think your tranquility will actually make me safer. Or anyone else, for that matter. Maybe Coupe feels guilty, or maybe she wants to do better this time for a reason, you know?"

A quiet, unhappy sound escapes her throat, and she hates how pathetic and painful it sounds.

It's the braver course, to carry on, and so wearying to think of, to keep moving one foot before the other. Her breathing is laboured, as though she'd run some great distance, and truthfully, she feels that same rush of adrenaline and shakiness that comes with exertion. The silence lasts a long time, once again, her breaths feel too loud, and she kisses the corner of Cosima's mouth, just maintaining that contact and keeping her eyes closed.

"Alright."

Her voice doesn't feel like her own, sounds as though it comes from a great distance. It must be too indulgent, it can't be right, and she—

"We can—" No, she can't make this Cosima's responsibility, and her voice wavers as she swallows, throat dry. "I'll look for another way."

"Let me help," she says, still urgently if quiet. "Or at least... if I can't help, don't feel like you have to shield me from what's going on with you. Even if it hurts. If it's ugly. I don't want you to be in this alone when I'm on your side and I'm right here."

She's been so careful not to push against Herian's boundaries, but maybe she's been too careful. Maybe Herian needs a bit of a push, if it's come to this.

Resting her forehead against Cosima's, Herian keeps her eyes shut, and exhales shakily. I don't want to hurt you echoes in her again, but Cosima's already set against that.

Part of her wonders, wretchedly, if she should push Cosima away. Claim she doesn't want her by her side, that she shouldn't be right here. Hurt her now with a lie to better keep her safe in the long run. (Honesty, a voice reminds her, a reverberation in her mind.) Lying to Cosima would not be honourable, but is endangering her any better? Is hurting her?

"I want you to." Help her, despite all the dangers, which is terrible all on its own. "But I will not— I am afraid that the reality will appall you. And I want you to promise that you know you are not bound to help me if you if it becomes too much." If she becomes too much, truthfully. If she already has.

"Then trust me enough to make that call, alright? I'm a big girl, Herian, you didn't trap me." She raises one hand to Herian's cheek, lightly. "We're literally in a fortress full of backup I can call if I need it, in a worst case scenario. I'm not afraid of you."

For all that it seems, at the moment, Herian is afraid of herself.

Slowly, she exhales a shaky breath, and nods. It's steadying, being so close to Cosima, the contact. The longer she's here with her, the less frantic she is beginning to feel, even if everything still feels uncertain and complicated and, frankly, frightening.

"I trust you." Her voice is rough, scratchy. "I'm— sorry."

Cosima exhales, a little shakily, staying close. "I'm glad you told me now, at least. I wish you'd told me sooner. You don't have to be perfectly strong all the time. Not with me."

Gently, her fingers curl through the ends of Cosima’s hair, twisting it around her fingers. Her other arm hugs Cosima close, though she hardly needs to urge Cosima to stay near her. It’s more protective.

“I know.” The words come slowly, uncertainly, but she forgets on. “I want to do better.”

Her hand drops so she can wrap that around Cosima as well, hugging her as she speaks against her cheek. “If— I promise you I’ll— I will share my burdens with you, so long as you do the same.”

Inevitably it’ll take some time, practice.

A kiss, albeit fleeting. “Just because you assure me I need not be strong in isolation does not mean you will bear your own troubles as well as mine.”

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( closed ) millions and billions and trillions of stars, but I’m down here low

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