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Solona.
The dark hair, the blue eyes - for a moment, Solona Amell stood in front of him, ramrod straight and unafraid. Cullen struggled to free himself from the sudden cage around his ribs, his frozen lungs, the throbbing ache of lyrium withdrawal that wasn't here, wasn't real.
"You can't!"
A mother's wail drug him back into reality, even if it was one he was ill-suited for. Is this how Solona's mother cried? Only Solona had been a child, not a woman grown. Not in Lowtown, not in Kirkwall - or had she? He had never looked into her past.
Sol- no, Bethany Hawke shook her head, watching him. He needed to do something, say something. "I'm afraid my duty is clear."
His voice sounded hard, stern. Cullen almost winced at it, the very image of an uncaring Templar, one who had no heart for a mother's loss. But mages are dangerous, he reminded himself. Whether they wanted to be or not.
Behind him, a door opened. "Surpri... wait, what's happening here? What do you think you're doing?"
Ah, that voice was familiar, even if Cullen hadn't heard it in months. Garrett Hawke. He'd left Kirkwall for some time, but had clearly proven he deserved to re-enter. The last person Cullen expected now. Especially behind him, given the circumstances; his back itched despite his armor. Garrett Hawke had killed enough Templars for Cullen to know exactly how far that protection would go. And who failed to act on that?
Some of those Templars - most of them - had been a blight on the Order. Cullen had stayed silent and let the investigations die, the deaths chalked up to abominations, malificarum, or Kirkwall's gang problems. And once again, he'd forgotten to pay attention to the situation in front of him. Cullen pulled himself back to the present once more.
"It's fine, Mother. I'll be fine."
"Like the Void you will! Beth, you don't have to do this. I'm back now."
She shook her head - not at Cullen, but behind him. "No, brother," she answered, her voice quiet in a way Solona's never had been. Certain. The chains of a year ago loosened another link. "I'm not running any longer. Knight-Captain?"
Cullen swallowed. He could clap her in chains, parade her to the Gallows, but that would do nothing but prove he was the worst of what was said about his Order. Not... entirely without cause, as much as he hated to admit it, but he'd focused his attentions on the trainees. If they knew their duty, then they wouldn't fall prey to demo- to the lesser urges that he'd seen among Templars his senior in age if not rank, here.
His throat wouldn't clear, clogged by delerious repetitions of the Chant of Light. Anything to block out the screaming. Kirkwall. Not Kinloch. Bethany, not Solona. Instead of agreeing, he inclined his head and held out an arm.
If she refused, he had no idea what he'd do. Leave without her, despite the report filed with the Order. Dismiss the magic radiating off of Bethany Hawke, lapping at his senses like Lake Calenhad against the Circle tower's foundations.
"Bethany!"
She put her hand on his arm, ignoring her brother's fury. That was how they left Gamlen Amell's dingy Lowtown apartment and entered Kirkwall's brilliant, unforgiving sunlight, dirt and chokedamp glittering under its rays. No shadows to hide the piles of reeking trash shoved into every corner, or the beams of the dirt-and-plaster buildings rotting until the structures sagged drunkenly against each other.
Not a word was spoken as they left Lowtown to the docks, or as she sat in front of him on the boat to the Gallows.
"This her?"
Cullen tightened his lips at the desultory question, but he didn't have time for more than a reproving glance.
Once again, it was the woman he was imprisoning who salvaged the situation. "Bethany Hawke, ser-"
"Renee," she answered, almost unwillingly - but immediately. Cullen ached for that sort of calm command, the confidence of one's request mattering, but he didn't have the time to worry about such matters, not when there was so much to do in the Gallows. Yet here Bethany Hawke had it with no rank, no training, nothing but her own calm center.
He took command of the situation clumsily. "This way," he told Bethany, gesturing toward the smaller courtyard. Twenty years young, but there was no one to learn from, no one who had time to help a young man thrust into command only because he survived when his brothers didn't.
Bethany Hawke, he realized, didn't seem to notice.
**
No matter how he tried, Cullen couldn't avoid Bethany Hawke. Mage, he reminded himself. Apostate. Daughter of an apostate, but she moved through the Gallows' tension-filled halls with a quiet grace that kept drawing his attention. Her face might be grave around Templars or the older Enchanters, but there remained a sense of veiled contentment, much like the softer sunlight of Ferelden, gentled with clouds that Kirkwall lacked.
Even her accent stood out, a reminder of home that was nothing but a risk. Terrifying, painful - and wanted. Cullen grasped at straws, but he knew the truth. There was something about the woman that was different.
He stood as senior for her Harrowing, holding his sword in a sweaty-palmed grip as he prayed he wouldn't need to use it. Adult apostates were rare, he'd argued - much too great a risk for the younger Templars' judgement. They stood with him instead, a twisted replay of what Greagoir had him do in Kinloch with this woman’s… what, cousin? They could have been sisters.
Minutes that could have been hours later, Bethany blinked her eyes and drew a deep breath. One shake, that of a mabari clearing her coat, and she was composed and grave once again. "So that's what meeting a demon is like."
Two days later, she had her first students. Apostate though he'd become, it seemed Malcolm Hawke had not forgotten his Circle training. The children smiled more, too. It was good to hear laughter in the halls, though Cullen didn't mistake which Templars snuffed out that laughter with their mere presence.
Bethany smiled more. With the child- apprentices, with other Enchanters at lunch. She handed them out as gifts, inviting those around her to join in the simple joy of practicing magic openly, without fear.
Not all the Enchanters could join her, and the uneasy knowledge of why that was twisted in Cullen's stomach. He'd shifted patrols where he could, sent the worst of the trouble-makers into the wilds or Kirkwall itself to look for apostates and blood magic, but there was only so much to be done. The Order needed every blade, especially in a Circle such as this. Bethany Hawke's was the only successful Harrowing that week. Out of five.
Something had to be done, and nothing the Knight-Commander nor he could come up with had made any difference.
That was how he found himself knocking on her door after dinner, after months of avoiding anything but simple pleasantries.
Silence. He might as well be knocking on the flagstones of the Gallows courtyard.
"Please. It's Cullen." Somehow, 'Knight-Captain' got trapped somewhere between his sense and his tongue. However, the door opened. Slightly.
"Can I help you, ser? It is late."
This was the last thing he should be doing. There was a process for Circle matters, one designed and tested over Ages. The Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter discussed who should be Harrowed, along with problems in the Circle. The Knight-Captain could ask the First Enchanter for more information, but his duties were to carry out those decisions. Decide who should stand at the Harrowing, or who should be detailed to watch the apprentice barracks, or who should be trusted on patrols outside the Circle and his reach. On rare occasions, he could consult with the Senior Enchanters.
But the process, he rationalized, has failed. The Knight-Commander had no more interest in working with First Enchanter Orsino, and her disinterest was returned with contempt and one-word answers. As to him, the First Enchanter was only interested in how deep his loyalty went.
That left him operating on his own, and that meant that he was here, instead of talking to any of Orsino's hand-picked Senior Enchanters or the more senior Templars that he quite frankly couldn't bring himself to trust. The Senior Enchanters or the senior Templars.
"I wanted -" He couldn't bring himself to enter her room, not until he heard the sounds of another's footsteps against stone. not yet in sight, but they would be around the corner shortly. Two swift steps, and he'd placed his reputation in Bethany Hawke's hands. "Quickly," he said, his tone hushed.
Only after she'd closed the door behind him did he realize how his words could be interpreted, and flushed quick and hot.
"I'm not - this isn't personal. I needed to talk to you."
One eyebrow rose.
"To someone," he flailed. His Templars' swords had too much blood on them. Blood on the walls, blood seeping into the cracks between the flagstones, matting the carpets. No matter how he beat against the walls of magic, they didn't waver. And throughout, the whispers. Pleas, promises, and the world faded in and out, until he couldn't tell hallucination from reality.
Hands on his elbow shocked him into the present. Solona stood so close - yet when he took a breath, it wasn't her perfume he smelled. Not Solona. "Are you - come to the window, fresh air will help."
It did. The breeze stung of salt, not cattail rushes rotting in the autumn lakeshore. The coppery tang of blood existed only in his memories. The whispers, the screams - none of it belonged here. Solona hung in his nightmares, not in the woman standing next to him. Cullen breathed slow and deep, forcing each to come in line with the cadence of the Chant of Light, a constant rhythm in his blood and bone.
"That - this - it's not why I'm here."
"I know," she murmured. If her scent hadn't convinced him, her gentle sturdiness did. This was no fiery Solona with her sharp-edged brilliance and pride. Bethany Hawke, Cullen realized, had nothing to prove to anyone but herself. "It's not the first time I've seen it. Garrett - Ostagar never left him, not really. I wonder who he has now when the memories bite. Father had Mother."
She didn't think him weak or broken. Cullen took another deep breath. She could be lying, but she was too... too Ferelden for that. Too much herself. The next breath came easier, almost normal. Then he remembered why he had come. "There's another Harrowing tomorrow night. I'm not sure..." Too much blood on the Harrowing Chamber's floor.
"Who?"
That information is tightly controlled. "Linesse," he answered, knowing he'd broken one of the most strictly held rules of the Order. Bethany Hawke was an Enchanter. She'd been an apostate until only months ago. A year now?
Bethany sighed, her hand tightening on his elbow the only indication of tension. She was still that close, still touching him. He hadn't noticed. "She'll manage, so long as she keeps her head. Pride or Rage won't tempt her."
"How do we - this isn't normal. Not at most Circles. Kinloch had four failed Harrowings in my whole time there. We've had eight this year, and it's not even Bloomingtide."
The same policies. The only difference was the air outside, and the combative relationship between First Enchanter and Knight-Commander. An untrained and inexperienced Knight-Captain, the weight of horror built into this place from its generations of slaves...
"Patience," she told him. "The younger ones aren't so afraid. They aren't angry, either. Not yet."
All he could do was close his eyes and lean his head against the windowframe - a window too narrow for even a child to crawl through. His room had one no larger, but... "Do you regret coming here?"
Bethany could have yelled. She could have sobbed, saying she had no choice. Under the Chantry's laws, she'd be right. Instead, she chuckled low and sweet. "Who do you think filed the report, Cullen? I'd run all my life, hid all my life. For my family. My brothers. My mother. You can only do that for so long before you get tired of it all. Here, I can help children learn to not fear their magic, like my father did for me. Maybe for them, it will be true. They won't fear their magic forcing their families to run again with only the clothes on their backs and what tools they could collect before someone came knocking, won't fear being blamed for a poor harvest or a neighbor's high fever."
He was speechless. All he heard from the First Enchanter were complaints. Cullen knew his own memories were better not lingered on, and his tolerance for leniency low. Blood mages could be anywhere, usually were anywhere and everywhere. Kinloch had taught him that, and Kirkwall only reinforced the horror of Uldred and his adherents. Yet here was a woman who saw beauty in what he knew was containment and vigilance.
Bethany Hawke could see a future that he, chained to his past, never even looked for. Just how much did his actions push it further away?
Well, those of this night did not. Depending on how the Harrowing came out...
**
Sweating and white-faced, Linesse opened her eyes - her eyes, no demon looking through them. Bethany Hawke had been right.
Cullen smiled at the thought.
Only after, as he paced the Gallows' moonlit courtyard, did he realize her shoulders had loosened at that point, her back straightening just a little. The mage assumed the smile was for her success, even if...
He turned, leaving the courtyard to reach the lonely Templar on boat duty. "Oh - Knight-Captain." No judgment in Renee's voice, but no warmth either. So far to the north, and he missed the warmth he'd found in Ferelden's cutting winters.
"The docks, please," he told her.
No one lurked to cut him down in the streets, and the Chantry's doors were, as ever, open. Only a few candles flickered, a hint of the Maker's warmth for His bride, enough to see by. Cullen knelt.
It wasn't Lynesse's face that came to him in his prayers. It was Bethany Hawke's grace. Her future. Mages are dangerous, whether they will it or not, he reminded himself. And yet...
Wasn't Bethany Hawke's vision the same as Knight-Commander Greagoir's had been? But look at where it got Greagoir. Blood on the walls, soaking through the carpets, screams and whispers, pleading, demanding...
Cullen breathed deeply, forced his hands to stop trembling. This was Kirkwall, not Kinloch. The Chantry, not the Tower. He was not trapped, watching his brothers and sisters die as playthings to abominations and blood mages. The only copper from biting through his tongue.
He knew where dreams led, and it was nowhere good.
**
Even with his doubts, the one visit led to another a month and a half later - a third a month or so after that. Then the worst happened.
He had been there. Taking only enough time to strip off his armor, Cullen hurried to Bethany Hawke's room, knocking sharply on the door. Too sharp, too nervous, he chided himself. Especially for an hour past midnight.
The door opened, "Wh - Cullen?" Bethany Hawke let him in, her hair down around her shoulders, spilling over her nightclothes. "Isn't it late?"
She deserves to know. To hear it from someone who... who won't delight in her pain.
The longer he waited, the more tension ran through her body, even if she kept it off her face. "Pedrick," he forced out past the memory. Blood on the Harrowing Chamber floor. "I - he-"
The second of her students, but the oldest. Bethany Hawke's shoulders caved in as she wrapped her arms around herself. She knew. "I told Orsino he wasn't ready. Andraste guide you to the Maker's side, Pedrick. I should have..."
The whisper cracked Cullen's attempt at detachment. The line between Enchanter and Templar vanished as he wrapped his arms around her. Loose enough for her to pull away, but something. Anything to stave off whatever nightmare scenarios were running through her mind. She should have pushed away. Instead, she leaned her head against him.
Bethany - calm, certain, content Bethany Hawke - shuddered through breaths, silent other than that. No one else would ever know the tears she shed now, before the whispers ran through the Gallows, spread by apprentices and senior Templars alike.
"I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair, holding her until she pulled back. He stood, awkward and uncertain, to watch as she looked out her narrow window.
"Did you - tell me, was it quick?"
No one should have to suffer, not in their last moments. "It was quick," he promised, grateful he could give her that truth to hold against the rest.
Bethany's head bowed, her shoulders still slumped. "Thank you for telling me, Cullen. I'd - like to be alone now."
His hand hovered for a moment at chest-height before he forced it down and nodded. What else was there to say? He couldn't bring the boy back, not given what looked out his eyes when they'd opened, glittering cold and knowing.
Another Templar paused in the hallway when he stepped out of Bethany's room, closing the door quietly behind him. He turned, revealing red hair anyone in the Gallows would know.
"Ser Thrask." Cullen would not apologize for what he'd done this night. Not even when Thrask's lips twisted. Let the older man think what he would of Cullen, if it would protect Bethany's privacy in this moment, but his face burned.
The other man sighed, turned, and continued on his patrol without another word.
**
As much as Cullen wished otherwise, he knew how Templars gossiped. Word of his late-night visit with Bethany Hawke spread rapidly, based on the looks he caught from the corner of his eye, the conversations that went silent as he approached.
Worst were his young Templars, his hope for something better than the current near-war between Knight-Commander and First Enchanter. Wilmod's mustache drooped when he met with them for training and reports.
"Is something the matter?" Snapping didn't help, but he couldn't stop himself.
The others glanced toward each other. "Uh... no. Knight-Commander."
He should never have gone. After the first time, it had been easier to justify a second. And then with Pedrick, what else could he have done? Cullen rubbed his face. "What I have to say goes no further, do you understand?"
Now the looks were uneasy, but all four nodded. Eventually.
"I am - not unaware of the tensions within our garrison here. Or those between Templars and mages. We are supposed to stay detached, but it was Senior Enchanter Hawke's student who failed his Harrowing." He would hold her pain close to him, but he could give the others that much. "She did not know, of course. But given the results, I felt as Knight-Commander it was best to handle the situation privately."
"Then - then why hide it?" she flushed when he looked her way. "Ser."
Cullen picked his way through the nest of traps around his every word. "The relationship between the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander is strained. Such things make it... harder to protect our charges. It is not our place to question, but if there are small things we can do to keep that strain from increasing, it is our duty. Within the bounds of our oaths, of course. This is... something that not every Templar believes in. Nor every mage."
"So that's why you never let Ser - I mean, yes, messere."
Which Templar’s name was choked off before it lived? Karras? Alrik? There were so many… but the Knight Commander knew they would not be swayed by a mage’s pleas, and that had become all she cared about. "Now, if that's all, we have training to return to."
The four did so, thoughts stewing behind swords and shields and armor.
He considered his own words. Could he believe that something healthy could come of all of this? Not of his feelings, or the way he ached when he thought of Bethany Hawke, but of the rest. Not trust, for trust was dangerous, but perhaps... respect.
It wasn't a dream, for his dreams had become unruly things, no longer mere nightmares. Something concrete, Cullen decided.
Maybe it would be enough.
**
Matters staggered along. The few bonds Cullen had made among older Templars fell apart, even though the younger believed him. Once Ser Thrask made his distaste known, no one was willing to help him fix the issues throughout the Gallows.
It hurt, but Cullen refused to show it. Instead he dove further into his work, adding inspections and his own rounds to check on matters. When it became clear that Ser Thrask led his own group of reformers within the Order...
Cullen remained quiet about it. They followed their oaths and did their duty with respect and caution both, if not as much of the latter as he would like. Meredith might not appreciate the balance, but for her Knight-Captain? Anyone who was doing his duty without causing more justified complaints for the First Enchanter to throw at the Knight-Commander or random Kirkwall nobles was an ally, if unwitting, in seeing to the needs of the Circle.
The younger Templars believed him. He held to that, especially as they began sharing a few stories here and there, of things they heard from the older Templars. Or, he suspected, from apprentices as they did their duty. Quietly, professionally. Respectfully.
Mages might be more dangerous, but it wasn't as though they had asked for such ability to appear. And even those who were apostates once, or left one Circle? Some were Grace while others were Alain. Scared, impressionable.
A knock on his office door caught him offguard. No one should be looking for him this hour of the evening, not when this was the time he had blocked off to read complaints and review the next week's rosters, while planning ahead for next month. Those always changed, but he liked to have something to start from. More Templars in the streets. The Guard was not Guarding particularly well, as was shown by Ser Emrich's investigation and death.
"Enter," he called.
It was Idunna. Not a person he'd thought to see, especially not wide-eyed as she was. "Ser - Knight-Captain. I've heard something terrible. Sensed, really, and then... I still know people. Some of them I'm sure aren't good for me, but it's important to be aware of risks, so no one makes the mistakes I did. Others are. It doesn’t matter now. This came from someone... someone I trust."
That comment alone would have gotten her strict isolation for a week from the Knight-Commander, Cullen noted. But he understood, in a way. There was a darkness in both of them that he recognized, and relied on to keep her on the straight and narrow.
"What?"
She closed her eyes. "Leandra Hawke is dead, serah. The blood mage who Ser Emrich was hunting, I think. Dead," she rushed to reassure him as he tensed, "thanks to Garrett Hawke. But still. And she's dining with her students tonight. Bethany. Senior Enchanter Hawke. I - I think that Garrett is not coming, but someone will."
And Enchanter Bethany Hawke should not face that news in public. Cullen knew how often she went to the estate to lunch with her family, given he signed off on each request. Once a week, followed by afternoon services at the Chantry. Tomorrow would have been the next time.
"Is your... source a person she would trust as well? Or can ensure that the visitor will be?"
Idunna nodded. "Yes, serah."
The decision was clear. "Then you have clearance to go and find them. Now." His pen flew across a quick pass, clearing her to use the boat to the Docks, but requiring she return before midnight. "Have the person report to... to my office, I suppose. I can summon Enchanter Hawke here when that happens."
He didn't like the solution, but it was all he had. And if it wasn't Garrett Hawke, it was probably old Gamlen Amell. No one would suspect him of anything untoward with Bethany in his presence. He was far too belligerent for that. But, Cullen admitted, trustworthy in his own way.
Boats to the docks took an hour, add another half hour to find Gamlen - either at his Lowtown apartment or in High Town at the Amell estate - the hour trip back. It was possible that Idunna took longer, but two and a half hours was guaranteed. Time enough to tidy his office, stack away all the reports and schedules, bundle complaints so he could read them in his rooms next door, and otherwise ensure nothing too sensitive was left out when he vacated the space for an Enchanter and her uncle. Two chairs, placed not across a desk from each other, but conversationally close, in front of his desk.
Untidy, perhaps, with the chairs jarring against his office's austerity, but the best he could do, and better to use this space than her rooms. The walls were thinner there, and she deserved both privacy now and the comfort of a retreat not filled with painful news.
Aah. One thing more; Cullen went to his rooms and dug out a stack of handkerchiefs sent by Mia six months ago. He remembered the deaths of their parents, and how knowledge there was nothing to be done couldn't stop the grief from bleeding out.
The boat returned in less time than his estimate, but not by much. He could hear the call and response from his office, which meant they had five minutes, perhaps ten. Cullen collected his papers, capped his ink, and left his office door open. The first Tranquil he found in the hall, he asked to send Enchanter Hawke to his office to receive a visitor, and that he would be in his room next door if needed. And also to collect a pot of tea. No, nothing further.
Would it help? He didn't know, but it was both the most and the least he could do. Then he lit a lamp, closed his door, and used the small table next to his bed - along with the length of the mattress - to continue his never-ending duty.
Guard, but do not punish. Be stern, not cruel. Distant, not uncaring. Mages are not at fault for the danger they carry. Which Templars stood on which side of the line, and which could he trust to walk it, ever balanced between their duties to the people outside the Circle as well as their duties to those who resided inside the Gallows' walls?
A sudden cry, just as quickly cut off, yanked him out of his paperwork. Close. Far too close. The screams - he would never forget the screams of his brothers and sisters, tortured to insanity. Maker, save him - save them, they deserved what he did not. It was his weakness that drew the demons so near....
The shriek was followed by a muffled sound, not screaming. Not Kinloch. Cullen pulled himself from past to present, opening his door.
Nothing.
He was certain the sound came from the present, not his past or waking nightmares. But no one should be near enough for him to hear.
One person was.
Two, but old Gamlen didn't matter. Not now. Cullen opened the door to his office quietly, only then realizing he'd left his sword in its scabbard, leant against his bedroom wall. No sword would be necessary. Inside his office stood two people. Bethany Hawke, her sobs scarcely louder than when she'd cried over her lost apprentice... but the man who wrapped his arms around her was not Gamlen Amell. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in simple trousers and shirt, he should be familiar. Cullen couldn't place him, not through the sudden ache in his stomach, the gaping void that sucked any anger from him before he could do more than recognize its presence. All of it because of the look in the man's eyes as he held Bethany Hawke. He hadn’t noticed Cullen. Not with his attention fully on the woman he held.
It bit. Worse, he knew that look. What he felt for the woman - the mage - was far more than he had suspected. Ser Thrask had been more right than he could face, not when looking into the face of a man in love.
One step back took all his willpower. A second, and he closed the door quietly.
He was happy. He should be happy that Bethany Hawke had someone who cared for her so deeply, that she could lean on no matter the horror of the situation. The man wasn't one of his Templars, so nothing stood in their way should they ask for the Chantry's permission to make their union formal.
Besides, he reminded himself, the first time in what would become thousands, it could never have been me. The fact he only realized now that he wanted it to be him meant nothing. He was Knight-Captain, she was one of his charges. A mage, the person he was sworn to watch and protect, to guard.
To keep his distance.
Paperwork was nothing to him now, but he dove into it with singleminded purpose spurred by a feeling he dared not name. Inappropriate feelings were shoved aside until a knock sounded on his door.
This late, no one should be here. He tidied his current stack. "Enter."
Not the face of the Tranquil on duty in the hall, nor the stranger he'd let use his office. No, it was Bethany, her eyes swollen and red. Cullen stood, ached to reach out to her, held himself back.
"You knew."
"I found out this evening, but you deserved to hear from" someone who cared "someone who knew more. I'm... sorry. No one should suffer what she did." His words were meaningless, dead in his mouth. But he was Knight-Commander, and she was an Enchanter.
She has someone who loves her. Someone else.
Cullen continued. "The blood mage-"
"Is very dead," she finished before he could ask, still leaden. "A dozen women over the years. More, maybe. Your Emrich was right, and the Guard failed... failed Mother. But he won't hurt anyone again."
Who was that man? How long have you two been together? Is he who you've seen when I signed your weekly dinner requests? None of them were appropriate for the evening - or ever. As Knight-Captain, he should not care who she saw, so long as he was no danger to the Chantry or the Circle.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, helpless to give her more. Chains held him, forged by duty and emotions that were more dangerous now than they had been hours before. In his room, there was no desk to hold between them. Three steps, and he could offer what comfort he could. They had both lost family to blood mages, after all, even if his dead brothers were of training and oath, rather than blood.
He did not. Bethany Hawke considered him, her eyes flicking around a room with no more comforts than hers, exhausted and raw. A moment later, and she'd pulled the mask of the Senior Enchanter, the benign calmness that had hidden her apostacy.
"Good night," she said, her voice husky with grief. "Thank you for letting Sebastian tell me."
Will you see your brother? See him tomorrow since your mother is dead - or your uncle? All those were appropriate questions, but Cullen held them back. "Good night," he answered instead.
**
Nothing was more dangerous than seeing Bethany Hawke in private. Cullen remembered Kinloch, or the contempt in Kirkwall's Gallows for Templars who used their power to visit selected mages. Ser Thrask's words had already spoken against him when he'd been appropriate. Now?
Cullen instituted a new policy: he would have a Senior Enchanter summoned to his office as soon as word came that their apprentice would be Harrowed. The Knight-Commnder agreed after he went to her with the news of Pedrick's failed Harrowing, and his Enchanter's recommendation against said ritual. It was a breach to question the First Enchanter's decisions, but one that the Knight-Commander had reason to favor. All Cullen wanted was fewer failed Harrowings. The rite of passage was important, but there was no value in throwing apprentices into it unready. My Templars' swords should not be bloodied for a battle of wills between Knight-Commander and First Enchanter.
The First Enchanter, he knew, used the failed Harrowings and children's bodies as 'proof' that the methods of his Knight-Commander failed. Yet who selected them?
When in doubt, he summoned Bethany Hawke. She had no loyalty to the First Enchanter sealed in shed blood on the Harrowing floor. Her loyalty was given to the Chantry, her family, and her apprentices. And Sebastian, his poisoned heart reminded him, until he pushed the thought aside as unworthy.
Each visit had his office's Tranquil, a man named Loudon, as witness and to record the conversation accurately. "Are you comfortable carrying out this task?"
The man considered, his face blank. "Your intent is to limit the losses the Circle suffers. Yes. This is important, to discover the increase in failed Harrowings. If the First Enchanter's focus is insufficient, an accurate recommendation must be ensured."
"Thank you," Cullen told the man. Then he blinked. "If there is any additional information that you or the other Tranquil can also provide, please do so before I give my suggestions to the Knight-Commander. You have a unique perspective that we lack."
Owain and the other Tranquil at Kinloch had always been helpful, with a perspective untwisted by anger or hope. How had he not thought to ask earlier?
Too many things to do, too few hands to help him accomplish them. But this? Loudon's agreement gave him confidence. This wasn't an effort to undermine the First Enchanter, or to see Bethany - it was necessary. His duty.
He just happened to see Bethany Hawke because of it, in the only way he allowed himself after that night.
That first month, the Knight-Commander refused to Harrow eight apprentices. The First Enchanter howled about interference and high-handed arrogance. Many of the other Harrowed mages shouted agreement.
The Enchanters who had those children as apprentices did not join in the chorus. Instead, they looked his way and folded their hands. A pool of silence developed in the center of the Gallows dining hall, spread slowly in eddies and rivulets, through Bethany Hawke and the other, younger Enchanters who sat with her most often.
Cullen left his perch in the entry, stomach churning. That month had half the failed Harrowings of the previous three. If they weren't ready...
Or were they blood mages, abominations in waiting, and the First Enchanter used the Harrowing Chamber to purge his Circle of the risk? Who was the blood mage training them? Where was this Circle's Uldred, and could he find the malificar before he destroyed everyone? The books they'd recovered from the blood mage's lair in Docktown... Cullen had found reasons to not return them to the First Enchanter. Someone had taken them from the library already, given them to a madman for notes. Research. Kinloch could not happen again. Not on his watch.
"Cullen."
His name pulled him from a spiral and hasty pacing. There she stood. Bethany Hawke.
"This was your policy, wasn't it. The change."
He said nothing - all the confirmation she needed, based on her nod. Certain, steady. A Ferelden farmer's daughter, dressed in the robes of a Kirkwall Enchanter. She shouldn't be here. But things had been improving. She was happy, wasn't she? Her apprentices were.
Two steps closer, and it was hard to keep his breathing regular. "The others won't say it, but I will. It was the right choice. Thank you."
Poor dead Pedrick hung between them. If he could ensure it, there would not be another child sent too early to his death. That was not what Circles were for, and the Order should not be used to cull children, no matter that half his Templars were all too eager to do so.
"Your requests to leave the Circle have stopped. You didn't want to spend the time with your brother? Uncle?" Lover?
Bethany drew in a quick breath. Not quite pain, he'd seen that on her once and it had branded itself into his memory. "No," she answered. "I'll see Uncle next month, maybe. He isn't ready to talk about it, or magic, yet."
No shadows hung in her eyes, they didn't flicker away to hide anything. But he had seen the way Sebastian held her.
"They'll be approved."
A flicker of amusement warmed her eyes, even if her expression remained grave. "Are you certain? That's quite generous, especially given my uncle's reputation in Kirkwall and the Knight-Commander's increasing restrictions."
"Whoever you wish to see. You've more than proven yourself." It was the one thing he could give her, that lay entirely in his power and did not contradict his duty. Bethany had reported herself to the Order, had been nothing but a model to her peers and the apprentices. If only all the mages were like her - not exactly, he hurt too much already, but of the same caliber. The Order's responsibilities would be simple then.
She inclined her head before walking out another courtyard exit. Blessed be Andraste, she didn't look back.
Maker, guide me. But the Maker had been silent since Andraste's death. Cullen had to fight this battle alone.
**
The battles grew harder, between the First Enchanter's provocations and the Knight-Commander's harsh reprisals. Cullen drove himself to exhaustion, abandoning his hours of solitude in Kirkwall's Chantry so he could personally monitor situations and keep them from getting further out of hand. Between the arguments heard throughout the first floor and the discontent, all his efforts were as useless as standing before a sandcastle as the tide came in. But the apprentices... the children deserved better from their elders than this. They were mages, yes, but how could they learn to control their powers safely with so much hatred in the air?
A request came from Bethany - not for herself (those had tapered off after the first six months or so), but for her and another Enchanter to bring eight apprentices to the Wounded Coast. He summoned her to his office.
"Your request..."
Bethany nodded. The years had added few lines to her face, and most centered around the corners of her eyes, her mouth. Despite the tension, she had grown only more beautiful, one of the few pillars of calm in the coming storm. "The training rooms here are too uneasy for this particular set of lessons."
If only he could disagree. "Then do you need a Templar escort?"
"Oh, that might be a good idea. We'll already be watched over by a pirate, a professional liar, and a Chantry brother." Her eyes invited him to join in his joke, but the last drove a nail of recognition through him. A Chantry Brother. Sebastian. Prince Vael. THAT was who came to speak to her that night, two years ago. He hadn't recognized the man without his Chantry robes. Her following words vanished into a buzzing sensation.
She didn't know. The other man's love was as one-sided as his own. That only made his situation worse, because a small, traitor part of him whispered maybe.
**
He’d assigned Thrask to join them. Reliable, but also a case where his over-leniency wouldn’t cause issues. After all, how could it? This was Bethany Hawke, the woman who’d chosen to join the Circle. The other Enchanter was Alain, but the young man had learned his lesson about blood magic.
Cullen hoped. But there was a line no Templar would cross, and he put his trust in the older Templar. At least this way, he’d see Sebastian - that had to have been the Chantry brother - and maybe that would ease the tension and let them work together rather than at odds.
He didn’t watch them leave, but found himself in the Gallows courtyard nonetheless, watching. Few mages were allowed to leave, which left the others unsettled. Jealousy, he supposed.
“Surprised you let so many go out,” Solivitus commented from his stand. He was one of the few who was perfectly happy to stray no further than the courtyard, where he could hire others to collect his ingredients for him. “Given matters and all.”
There was too much fear here, too much anger. It scraped at Cullen’s nerves. “It was two enchanters and a half-dozen apprentices. Surely that’s not so large a number.”
The herbalist blinked. “But that’s not…”
Something uneasy curled in Cullen’s stomach. “Tell me,” he ordered. “Who left?”
“Ser Thrask with the first group, but he said to expect the second. All told, it was four or five Templars. Eight Harrowed mages, and the apprentices with the first group. That - Ser Thrask had the signed order, but said they’d need multiple trips. He…”
Solivitus trailed off. The order. Andraste help him, the order he’d signed. It had been for Ser Thrask to escort Enchanter Bethany Hawke and those who went with her to the Wounded Coast for the day.
“What mages? Who?”
Alain, he’d expected.
Grace, he had not. The uneasiness turned to dread as he looked around the courtyard and collected the first four Templars he could see. Would that be enough? Maybe, if he also informed Garrett Hawke that he’d let the man’s sister be kidnapped by a bunch of former blood mages and the Templars who had been seduced by them.
‘A pirate, a Chantry Brother, and a professional liar.’ It was possible Garrett already knew, but he stopped by the Hawke estate and left a note just in case. Then he took his small patrol into the wounded Coast, praying he would find her… them… before it was too late.
**
Even running into Samson of all people only helped so much. It hurt, to see what the man had fallen to. They traveled in what felt like circles through the hot coastline, only to eventually home in on loud, repetitive cursing.
It was part of who they were looking for. Well, the cursing was from Varric, a Lowtown fixture, but with him was a woman that Cullen avoided considering, only to focus on Sebastian - in armor of all things. There were eight apprentices scattered between them, two with obvious bandages and all of them badly shaken.
“I swear to the fucking Maker himself, on Andraste’s used smalls-”
Cullen coughed. “What happened?” He pulled off his helmet, even if all the sweat had turned his hair into a curled, matted mess. “Enchanter Hawke-”
“Isn’t fucking here.”
Sebastian cut off the dwarf. “There was an ambush, of sorts. B- Lady Hawke said something about blood magic, and she was going to hold the barrier so we could get the children out.”
Of course. What else would she do? The Circle had become her home, the apprentices her children and responsibility. But one mage against five Templars and a half-dozen blood mages…
“Alain?”
Only shrugs.
This was all his fault. Meredith had been right to - no. This was Bethany. His only failure had been trusting Thrask. Trusting Orsino when he said Grace and the others had repented. He should have asked Ilduna. He should have -
So many things. But what mattered now was freeing her and killing malificarum. “Brother Sebastian, can you please take the apprentices to the Chantry?” Half of them gave him looks of surprise, but Sebastian nodded. It was quiet, it was safe. These were children that Bethany believed in.
Once that was settled, he turned to the others.
“We’re going to deal with this. I’ll let the two of you decide which way you want to go.”
The woman and Varric looked at each other. “Oh, piss. Yes, I’ll go with the children. You stay out here, Varric. You’d better find me at the Hanged Man as soon as you’re back.”
“Yeah. C’mon, Knight-Captain. I’ll take you to where they hit us.”
They hurried, Cullen ignoring the sand creeping into every chink in his armor, stopping only once for a breather when they found the location of combat. Magic still throbbed in the air, left hanging rather than properly dispelled, and rancid enough to choke his Templars.
Cullen had lived through worse. He squatted to look at the tracks and traces. Where was the blood?
One Templar lay on the ground, arrows sticking from his helm. The screams, he would never forget the screams… but that was then, and this Templar had allied with the blood mages. No doubt they would need to give him a proper funeral, but that was a later matter.
“This way,” he said, standing up. It was less the blood or even the footprints still visible in the sand. More, the rank trail of blood magic clung to the path they’d traveled.
“Are you sure?”
That’s right. Varric was blind to what he saw. “Yes,” he answered shortly. This time he led, pausing only when there were obvious signs of other battle, other magics.
Garrett Hawke rounded the giant boulder between them and the magical storm only starting to fade. With him was Anders of all people - a Warden? Well, that was none of his business, and the least he could do was ignore the mage and give him privacy. Guard-Captain Aveline exchanged a somber nod, and the final member of the group was an elf helping Bethany walk closer.
“What’re you doing here? A bit late to the killing.”
Temper. Cullen could hardly breathe from the relief, though her limping concerned him. “I sent word as soon as I uncovered the plot, Ser Hawke. And glad that I did. Samson did his best to lead us, but we only got as far as her companions and the apprentices. They’re all safe, Enchanter,” he hurried to add, “Brother Sebastian is watching over them, taking them back to Kirkwall.”
Her brother might not have seen her sigh of relief, but Cullen did.
“Well, I guess you’re useful for something. We killed the rest of them, except for one mage that helped us in the end. Just around the way. Have fun cleaning up after the people who do the real work.”
Cullen nodded and walked past, trusting the others to follow him. His Templars took stock of the killing ground - for that’s what it was. Magic and blade alike had gone through flesh, plenty of it. In the shadow of a large rock stood Alain.
“I didn’t want to! I just… I didn’t know how to say no.”
Everyone else was dead, but Garrett had left this one man alive. And it fit. Grace had subdued him before, when he was barely more than a boy. Cullen sighed. “Templars, stack the bodies just outside here - where we met with Hawke and his friends. I’ll clean up the magic so demons aren’t tempted to test the Veil. Who knows how many bones are in the sands.”
Alain blanched.
One moment of concentration once the mage was gone, and Cullen expended all the lyrium filling his veins to wipe this hollow clean. When he opened his eyes, he couldn’t smell the bitter rot of blood magic, or the other magics from Bethany and Anders. The world felt a little hollow. He couldn’t mind, not now.
Good enough. He sent the others with Alain back to the Gallows, remembering that someone needed to collect the apprentices from the Chantry - do something with them, at least. Andraste help him, he had no idea what to do.
**
Cullen took the lay sister’s offer of a bath and clean clothes before he tried to find the apprentices, grateful to get his armor off and the stink of the day scrubbed from his skin, if not his mind. Bethany, at risk. There was no doubt that Thrask and the others had decided to kidnap her to force some kind of issue. But what? Or had they been after the apprentices, and Bethany just happened to be alert enough and quick enough to get them free?
The thoughts didn’t leave him as he fastened someone else’s trousers around his waist and padded barefoot to the nave. Andraste hung over him, golden and triumphant - but that wasn’t the Andraste of his town, nor of the Chant. She’d sacrificed herself as necessary to right a great wrong and free people from the chains of slavery and blood magic both.
Kneeling, he rested his head on his folded hands and breathed. No prayers, not tonight. He needed to be somewhere that wasn’t rank with sweat and fear, where he couldn’t hear screams or see blood in the flagstones. What could he do now?
Tell Meredith was the obvious answer. Give her the entire truth, let her know that some of the Order had corrupted under his command, and blood magic was being practiced still in the Gallows. She would demand an annulment, and he couldn’t tell if the Grand Cleric would give in this time. Lie to her?
What could he say - that Thrask and the others went to deal with the blood mages, he supposed. Except the apprentices, terrified and remembering the truth, would prove his falsehood.
There was blood magic, of that he was sure, but his mind kept returning to Bethany. She’d been limping, and she’d been taken by Thrask and Grace from where she’d held off the others to where her brother had killed almost everyone to save her. Could he have made such a decision, standing against his brothers in the Order?
She had to be alright. He couldn’t believe anything else. If she never returned, he’d destroy her phylactery, say it was lost in the chaos, and never regret anything except the lack of her in his life. It would be worth it, if she decided to run again.
“So here’s where you’re hiding.”
The words might’ve been accusatory, but the tone was decidedly gentle. Quiet, enough that had he been deep in prayer, they wouldn’t have disturbed him. Cullen looked up to see Bethany. Who else? But this time, in neither the leather trousers of today’s expedition or the robes of an Enchanter. A light summer dress, instead, if a little large for her, set off the waterfall of black hair down her back. Bare feet, too. Shoes must be hard to come by in a Chantry.
His retort was more forced than it should have been. “I’m not hiding!” If he was, he wouldn’t be here, where he’d told Sebastian to bring her apprentices, where anyone could find him should they look.
The amusement on her face softened into something else. Bethany glanced up at the incense-wreathed figure of Andraste. He used the opportunity to stand. “No,” she agreed, hardly more than a murmur. “There’s something comfortable here in the shadow of Andraste, isn’t there? It makes everything feel like the answer is there if we only know how to find it. That our problems aren’t insurmountable. It’s why I come to the Chantry so often.”
That or a certain Brother, but Cullen wouldn’t, couldn’t ask. Instead he sighed. “If only… do you ever regret having magic?”
She looked away from him again. “Sometimes. Not often, but sometimes. When I realize that what I want for my life… isn’t possible. But I don’t blame magic for that. Besides, if it hadn’t been for magic, would I have met h-the people I have? Only the Maker knows.”
Him. “You should say something,” Cullen said, also turning to face Andraste rather than the woman he would have never met, if not for her magic. Or would he have? Not Solona, certainly, but Bethany? If they had, it would have been different. She would have been different, perhaps.
“Why? What good would that do, other than ensure the pain grows?”
“Because if… if he’s the type of person to earn your love, then surely he deserves the truth as well.” I’ve done what I can. But that led to thoughts of Kinloch, the agony of withdrawal, the demons clutching at every hidden, forbidden desire. The words he said to Solona when she rescued him.
The things he wanted to say but couldn’t, because for all the truth of his words, his position meant he couldn’t tell Bethany the truth. But he’d told others. He’d tell the Grand Cleric, he decided. Sebastian already knew, and he couldn’t tell Meredith. She’d remove him from his position, send him onto the streets, and then who would wind up in his place?
“Secrets will always come out, and often in the worst ways.”
Bethany turned to face him, giving him no choice but to look at her as well. “Do you think so? Even if he doesn’t feel the same way? Even when there’s no possibility we could find happiness together?”
“Yes.” After all, he knew Sebastian loved her.
Her hand on his shoulder startled him, but it was the feel of her lips against his that emptied his mind and left him all but gasping. When Bethany let herself sink back onto her feet, he tipped his head to hold onto the kiss.
Long moments later, sense reasserted itself and he took a step back. The shock of it, of seeing the look in her eyes, almost made him return. Bethany was right. She was a mage, and he was her Knight-Captain.
Nothing could come of a love between Templar and mage.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and fled.
**
Sebastian caught up to him where the first set of stairs led from High Town towards the docks and Gallows. “You forgot your boots,” the other man said, holding them up.
“Thank you.” Too formal. Cullen felt his cheeks heating, and turned away to lean on the railed overlook. Not that Lowtown was anything to admire, but he could pretend to consider the ships that were probably shadows out there somewhere. “I should have said something before leaving.”
Instead of answering, Sebastian joined him at the railing, also content to look out at nothing. The silence hung, comfortable enough that Cullen’s embarrassment faded and he could breathe normally again, pretend that he hadn’t just proven his utter incapacity as Knight-Captain by admitting he loved one of his charges.
“I’d wondered who it was she gave her heart to,” Sebastian said, breaking the silence. “I could see the difference.”
Oh, Maker. The night could get worse. “I didn’t-”
“Never said you did. Besides, she’s as Fereldan as they come. Will go her own way, sooner or later, and Andraste help whoever tries to stop her. I think Hawke finally realized that. It’s always the ones closest to us that figure it out last.”
His family and his dreams of becoming a Templar. Which in the aftermath of Kinloch, he wondered if they’d been right. “It doesn’t matter,” he said instead. “I’m a Templar.”
“You canna change your mind?”
“No.” The ones who did went mad. Or died. “It’s not an option. And who would take my place?”
Sebastian sighed. “You never know where the Maker’s path will lead you. I’ll not say anything. You’re not the sort to hurt her.”
“Never!”
“Well, then. Here’s your boots. I’ll have the Grand Cleric tell the Knight-Commander that Bethany and the apprentices are staying a few nights under the Chantry’s roof.”
A small reprieve for him to decide what to do.
“Thank you,” he said, this time sincere.
**
By the time he reached the Gallows, he’d settled on his way forward. Cullen found that Knight-Commander Meredith had returned only an hour before he had. She would still be awake then.
He knocked on her door.
“Enter.”
The Knight-Commander looked relaxed. Good. He closed the door, then took a relaxed, official stance. “There’s been a problem. Some Templars had allied with blood mages within the Circle and attempted to kidnap or kill two Enchanters and eight apprentices.” Meredith’s face turned white, then red, then white again with rage. Before she could shout orders, he continued. “All malificar and the Templars who allied with them have been executed. However, I have two requests to make.”
“What.”
He swallowed and continued, refusing to look at the small shrine the Knight-Commander had in her room, or notice for the latest time that her rooms were no more luxurious than his. What mattered was walking the line between her paranoia and rage.
“It is clear that there is - or has been - a failure in the Templars under my command. I remand myself to your punishment, of course. Additionally, I request reinstatement of Samson. His efforts were part of how we were able to find the criminals so quickly. Second, I must request permission to transfer as many of the apprentices as possible to other Circles until we can be certain the malificar are indeed eliminated. I would not see another Uldred, corrupting children from a position of respect.”
“And just how do you plan on determining who is free of that corruption, versus who we would be sending as a plague-carrier?”
“The apprentices who have been here less than six months can all go,” he answered. “Even if they have been sounded out by malificarum, the risks are low enough once they get to a Circle without an active problem. Kinloch, for instance, as their awareness of the risk is high. Beyond that, there are three or four mages that I would consider trustworthy. Ildunna, as a former malificar who has aided me in several moments, including the first warning of today’s kidnapping and the horror from a few years ago. Bethany Hawke, as a target and potential victim. Marim. Humfrey. And of course the Tranquil. We have several that interact with apprentices and Enchanters alike, and I have been remiss in asking them for assistance.”
Meredith paced her room. Cullen did his best to project a sense of calm, as much as he could under the circumstances. “You expect me to trust your judgement now, after having admitted failure? Who aided the malificarum?”
“Thrask, Knight-Commander.” she stopped dead at that name, only moving again once he added the other five.
“I see. So any sympathies would have occurred long ago.”
“It is possible, Knight-Commander. The older Templars have never completely accepted my position. Or perhaps, my age and my Ferelden blood.”
That drew out a snort. “The latter, certainly. This is Kirkwall. Very well. Do your investigations and bring me the lists. Each group of apprentices will only leave once we have confirmation from the receiving Knight-Commander and an escort to go with them. Given what we face, I’m certain they will understand that we dare not send any of our own Templars with them.”
“Did you want Enchanters to accompany them as well, to limit any magical… mishaps? These would be larger groups than normal.” He could get Bethany out.
“Perhaps. I’ll make that decision once you have given your initial report.”
“Knight-Commander.” Cullen saluted and left, only daring to breathe once the door was safely between himself and his superior. He had failed. Not just in his feelings, but in failing to realize what Thrask had elected to accept in his efforts to remove the Knight-Commander.
He had work to do.
**
Cullen’s door opened. “How dare you!”
He looked up. Bethany. Furious. “What happened?”
“You happened! I’ve done nothing to justify taking all of my apprentices from me. Nothing. I’ve kept them safe. I’ve taught them. And you treat me like the others? Is this because of-”
“No!” He took a breath. “Not at all, and that’s why they are among the last to go. I heard from Knight-Commander Greagoir. In Ferelden, just outside Redcliffe. The first set of apprentices integrated well, and he offered to take more. I - we - need to get them somewhere that isn’t Kirkwall. You know that, you’ve been here long enough.”
Her fury faded, though her arms were crossed tightly. “You can feel it too?”
“It’s not… sustainable. But after what happened with Grace and Thrask…” He swallowed. “Greagoir asked if we could send another Enchanter with this group. They’re a little low on teachers, especially ones that can handle teenage drama.”
Her lip twitched. “I’m afraid you’re operating under a misapprehension. Mages don’t experience the normal moodiness, drama, and hormones of ordinary people.”
“I see.” he closed his eyes to keep himself from smiling back. Or worse, getting up and reaching out to her. He’d kept a desk or the length of a room between them ever since that night in the Chantry. He’d remembered once - he didn’t trust himself to remember again. Nothing good comes of a mage and a Templar.
“Do you want me to go?”
Yes. Never. “Can you stop the storm that’s coming?”
Silence hung between them.
“No.”
“Then go. Please. At least - it’s better this way.”
He didn’t hear her leave. He couldn’t watch her boat depart the Gallows, making for the Ferelden ship ready to cast off. He turned back to his paperwork, his reports, his investigations that went in circles no matter what he tried.
And when the Chantry exploded and blood ran in Kirkwall’s streets, his only comfort was knowing Bethany Hawke was safe.
**
Cullen stood, staring through the snowy darkness toward what had been the Temple of Sacred Ashes. So many dead. All their hopes, shattered.
The storm had come indeed. He reached into his pocket, thumbing an old phylactery. He hadn’t mentioned it to old Knight-Commander Greagoir, who certainly had made a new one once Bethany arrived at Kinloch. As things grew worse, as his attempts to right the Gallows failed but his efforts to help Kirkwall itself succeeded, he’d found a sort of security in feeling it answer to the lyrium in his blood. Bethany Hawke was safe, even as everything else was at risk.
Ironic, that it had finally faded enough that he couldn’t when the sky opened up and all their hopes came crashing down. All he had was the savage ache of need and nightmares that had him walking past Haven two hours before dawn, staring in the direction of the unthinkable.
The crunch of snow let him know someone approached. A light-footed someone. Andraste, not another pilgrim. I have no answers. He didn’t flinch as they came close, focusing on his breath steaming in the air in front of him and praying they would just go away, whoever it was. He had too many people weighing on his shoulders already.
“So here’s where you’re hiding.” A voice, all too familiar for all it had been years. Gentle, touched with weariness and sorrow that he didn’t remember it carrying before.
He breathed. Another nightmare. Not a demon, a simple nightmare. The one unknown question that he couldn’t answer, because Greagoir had passed a year ago and he didn’t trust the new Knight-Commander enough to ask, if there had been one. It had been so close to when the Circles fell, all he heard were wild rumors.
“It’s quiet here,” he murmured into the night. “Not many can face what happened, and fewer want to.” Only the Breach lit up the sky, an open wound in the Veil.
A hand slipped into his, cold even through his gloves. His fingers tightened. “Are you going to run away again? Because at this point, I don’t particularly think the whole mage or Templar thing matters any longer.”
His huff sent a white plume into the air, almost smoke. “No.” Maker, no. He’d thought a dozen times about reaching out after he’d walked away from the Order, but there was nowhere he could reach out to. Only the knowledge she was alive, somewhere. “I’m done running.”
He’d run from home. He’d run from Solona, then from Kinloch. He’d run from her, then from Kirkwall. Finally, from the Order itself. No. Here in Ferelden, he’d made that promise to himself.
“Good.”
They stood, shoulder to shoulder, watching the darkness cut in two by magic.
Maybe now, in the darkness of broken dreams and failed promises, they could build a future.