Cullen would not had recognized the man, were it not for the particularly bright blue of his eyes. He was seated on a broken block of stone to one side of the rubble-filled square, wearing just leggings and boots, and so coated with stone dust as to seem stone himself, until he blinked. Cullen stared, then picked his way across the rubble toward him. "Brother Sebastian?" he called, stopping a few paces away, studying the man's face. A face empty of any visible emotion, somewhere beyond grief.
Blue eyes turned and met his. Blinked. The expression did not change, apart from a slightly cracking of the dust at corners of mouth and eyes. Empty eyes; tormented eyes. Eyes that had seen too much. A look Cullen was familiar with, there having been a time when it was the look in his own eyes, the look he avoided in the mirror every morning, learning in the end to shave without one so as not to see what looked back at him out of his own eyes.
"Sebastian," he said again, quietly and moved a step closer.
Sebastian drew a slow, deep breath. "Hawke?" he rasped out, of a throat raw from screaming, closed from crying, dry from rock dust breathed in while sifting through rubble in search of any survivors. Though those had been few, as the blanket-draped row of bodies along one side of the square attested.
"Gone," Cullen told him. "She took the mage with her."
Sebastian nodded, and turned away, gaze returning to the pile of rubble. Though not his attention; it was not the rubble he saw, his eyes were focused on something only he could see. Memory, perhaps. "It doesn't matter," he said, voice flat.
"It should," Cullen said softly, and bit his lower lip. He had things he should be doing... and yet he hated the thought of just walking away, of leaving the man sitting there like that. "Is there somewhere you can go? Somewhere I can take you?"
A long silence. Then, "Yes," Sebastian said, and rose to his feet, only to almost collapse to the ground, Cullen just managing to catch him in time to prevent him from falling. He'd pushed himself too far, the templar could see – pushed himself beyond the point where anyone sane would have stopped, and rested. Pushed himself close to a physical breakdown, perhaps not even realizing how much he was wearing himself out. Pushed himself, because it was easier to push than to stop.
That, too, was something Cullen remembered. Cleaning the halls and classrooms and dormitories had been better than the dreams; a waking nightmare preferable to what might ambush him while he slept. At least when he was awake he knew what was real. More than once Greagoir had had to order him to rest, though even orders couldn't make him sleep for more than an hour or two at a time before the nightmares and fear drove him back out of his room, back to work, sometimes at least half-asleep as he worked his way through rooms on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floors spotless – though no amount of scrubbing could remove the memory of what they'd been stained with – and yet unable to stop and rest.
"Where should I take you?" Cullen asked quietly, holding him upright. "You know the guard-captain, don't you? She stayed... and that dwarf..."
"No, there's a closer place," Sebastian rasped out, gesturing vaguely with one hand.
He could walk, but only slowly, in a hobbling, bone-deep soreness sort of way. Cullen supported him, one arm around his waist, while the man directed him through the streets of Hightown, his voice increasingly thick with exhaustion, until they stopped in front of a dilapidated ruin of a mansion, most of the windows missing glass, the exterior overgrown with vines, garden beds choked with weeds.
"Here!?" Cullen asked, unsure if this was where Sebastian had really meant to go.
"Yeah... Fenris' place," Sebastian slurred out in explanation, head drooping tiredly.
"He's left too," Cullen told him, wondering what friendship had existed between the pair for the man to have had him bring him here, of all places.
Sebastian managed a shrug. "He won't mind if I stay," he said.
Cullen stared at the house, and then at the man, so visibly flagging even as they stood there, and then came to a decision. The elf had lived here, so surely there must be food inside, a bed, something. He tried the door – unlocked – and helped Sebastian inside, grimacing as his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit interior, and saw the state the place was in. "He lived here!?"
A weak laugh. "He wasn't much of one for housecleaning. Upstairs," Sebastian directed.
Cullen helped him, thinking he might have to carry him the last little way, but Sebastian was a stubborn one, labouring to lift each foot in turn, step after step all the way up the broad staircase to the top, gesturing vaguely at the one open door to make clear which room was usable. Though only barely, Cullen saw as he helped him through the door, taking in the holes in the roof, the smoke-stained mantel, the unwashed plates and mugs and empty wine bottles scattered about the room. The bed was pushed in a corner, the bedding coiled into a messy nest. Sebastian straightened and staggered the last few steps on his own, dropping onto the bed and making only a token effort at making himself comfortable before he was, between one breath and the next, soundly asleep.
There are things he needed to do, yet Cullen stayed for a long moment, looking down at the sleeping man. There were things that he needed to do... but he would, he decided, return later, to make sure that Sebastian was all right.
Smell woke him. Smell, and sound; the smell of sausages frying, and the sound of water being poured into a tin tub. He wasn't sure where he was for a moment, then drew in a breath and smelled the familiar mix of mildew and must, leather conditioner and weapon oil, and faint underlying somewhat stale musky male odour, that said Fenris to his senses. He relaxed, for all of one heartbeat, until he remembered where he was, and why, and drew in one sudden breath, on the edge of crying out from the pain of it all. And choked on dust, starting a coughing fit.
"Brother Sebastian?" a familiar voice called from somewhere nearby. Cullen, he realized after a moment of panicked thought, and remembered being helped across Hightown by the man.
He tried to respond, but could only manage wheezing sounds in between racking coughs. He tasted dust and blood. Stone dust, he remembered, and choked again, for a moment unable to breathe at all.
Cullen muttered a curse, and then an arm went around Sebastian's shoulders, helping him to sit up, a hand thumping him roughly on the back until he managed a single gasping breath. A cup was held to his lips. Tea, cooling and brewed black as tar, but it cut through the dust, and he managed another breath, a deep, shuddering one, holding back the grief that wanted to escape. "Thank you," he managed to say, once his breathing had steadied.
"There's food cooking," Cullen said as he rose and stepped back from the bed, setting the cup down on the windowsill nearby. "And I've warmed water for a bath," he added, looking uncertain.
Sebastian stared at him, then over at the fireplace, where Fenris' tin tub stood near the fire. "Thank you," he said again, surprised. Astonished, even. Puzzled, too, though when he looked down and saw how thickly coated he was with dust, he understood why Cullen might have thought a bath was a priority. He tried to move, and hissed in pain as every muscle and what felt like half his bones protested. "I think I may need your help getting up," he said hesitantly, then grimaced. "And help into the tub as well, I fear."
Cullen nodded, and helped pull him to his feet, steadying him until he'd found his balance, and giving him a support to lean on as he hobbled over to the tub. He noticed that his feet were bare, his boots neatly placed together by the foot of the bed, and guessed that Cullen must have taken them off for him, as he certainly hadn't done it himself. He couldn't remember what he'd done with the rest of his armour, beyond taking it off so he could more easily dig through the rubble... he cut off that line of thought, not wanting to remember that. Not yet, anyway. Later, perhaps.
Cullen did his best to avert his eyes as he helped Sebastian out of his leggings and smalls, and then into the tub. The water wasn't very warm – barely more than tepid – and quickly turned milky from all the stone dust. Cullen had an extra bucket of water waiting near the fire, and brought it over to pour over him, rinsing off the worst of the dust. Sebastian started to reach for the soap and cloth that the templar had left sitting within reach on the end of one of the benches, then hissed in pain.
"Maker, your hands..." Cullen exclaimed, dropping to one knee to take a closer look at them.
Sebastian's hands were torn and bruised from scrabbling through piles of stone the night before, one fingertip purpling from a bad bruise, the nail bed almost black. Sebastian vaguely remembered what had caused that one – a large block of stone shifting, almost crushing his fingertip between itself and a second, smaller block – but most of the damage was just there, the causes not specifically remembered. The stretching motion as he'd reached for the soap had cracked open the scabs that had formed over some of the worst scrapes and gouges, blood welling up to stain his skin.
"Some of those will need salving and bandaging," Cullen said, and reached for the washcloth. "Once they've been cleaned properly first, anyway. This may hurt," he warned, then dipped the cloth in the water and began sponging away the worst of the dirt and dust.
Sebastian sat quietly, feeling self-conscious of the fact that his modesty, such as it was, was being protected only by the high sides of the tin tub and the murkiness of the water surrounding him. But Cullen's touch was gentle, and his attention focused completely on the task he'd taken on, and all in all Sebastian was too tired to protest. Cullen hesitated when he'd finished cleaning Sebastian's hands, then almost matter-of-factly moved on to hurriedly washing the rest of Sebastian, at least all the bits above water, before finally helping him back to his feet and handing him an old sheet to use as a towel. Sebastian quickly draped it around himself, then with Cullen's help stepped out of the tub and took a seat on the bench nearby.
"There should be salve and bandages and thing like that in the chest over there," Sebastian told him, gesturing to where he knew Fenris typically kept such things. And then, after a hesitation of his own, "What happened last night?"
"Too much," Cullen said, as he poked around in the chest, finding not just poultices and salves and bandages, but a voluminous nightshirt that Sebastian recognized as one he'd once given the elf. He wondered if Fenris had ever even used it; by its presence in the chest rather than anywhere near the bed, he guessed not.
While he worked on salving and bandaging Sebastian's hands, Cullen launched into the story of what had happened down at the Gallows, at least as much of it as he'd seen himself, or been told of later by those who had seen. It was a long story; Sebastian's hands were dealt with, and he had been dressed in the nightshirt – even that requiring help – by the time Cullen was done.
The templar wordlessly dished out food for both of them – a fry-up of chunks of sausage, onions and potatoes – while Sebastian considered his tale. "So you're Knight-Commander now?" he finally asked.
"I don't know what I am," Cullen admitted. "I rebelled against my Commander, even if she was..." He stopped, shrugged. "I still think it was the right thing to do, but I doubt the Chantry will see it that way. I doubt I'll still be a Knight-Captain by the time they've done with me. Perhaps not even a templar. Even if they agree with the necessity, which isn't at all certain, they'll be too aware of the insubordination. The mutiny."
Sebastian nodded, and turned his attention to eating, holding his fork made difficult by the bandages.
"And what of you?" Cullen asked. "What are you now?"
Sebastian paused, then put down his fork. "Angry, mostly," he said quietly. "Hawke and I were friends, I thought. And yet it didn't seem to disturb her at all, that Anders destroyed my home, my friends and adopted family; that he might easily have destroyed me as well if chance had not had me down in Lowtown with Hawke instead of up here. But I know that's not what you're asking. And the answer is... I don't know. I have been unsure for some time now, whether to return to my vocation within the chantry, or to travel to Starkhaven and attempt to claim the throne. Both positions of great honour; it is rare that a man rises any higher than a lay brother in the chantry, yet before I became so... conflicted, the Grand-Cleric had spoken of raising me to the priesthood."
"A great honour indeed," Cullen agreed. "She must have thought very well of you, to consider such a step."
"I believe she did. It... disappointed her greatly, I think, when my family was killed, and I lost my direction. And yet she did not try to dictate my choices; she even released me from my vows so that I might travel about and try to gain support to overthrow my cousin. Not that it helped," he added, a touch bitterly. "No one I spoke to was willing to help me, not with men or with money. Either too frightened that whomever had killed my family would treat theirs the same if they interfered, or preferring the rule of my cousin."
"Did you ever find out who was behind it all?" Cullen asked curiously.
"Yes, and they were dealt with, with Hawke's help," he said, and bit his lip, deciding against sharing that story. "The only powers behind my cousin's throne now are any he himself has allowed to replace the woman that put him there."
He picked up his fork again, moved around the food on his plate, stabbed a bit of sausage, then set the fork down again. "I feel even more lost now than when my family was killed," he said softly. "I threatened Hawke, you know... told her if she did not kill Anders for what he had done, that I would reclaim my throne, and return here at the head of an army to do it myself."
"But she's left. And taken Anders with her."
"Aye, and even if she hadn't, I do not think I would do it in any case. I'm not sure I even could do it, even if I'd truly meant the words. My cousin is well-entrenched now, and while he does not rule as my father did, as my brother would have, he... does well enough, from all I have heard. A weak man, perhaps, but not an evil one. It would be wrong of me to depose him just to involve the people of Starkhaven in a war they would otherwise have no involvement in. And, as you say, neither Hawke nor Anders are here in any case."
"So what will you do now?" Cullen asked.
"I do not know. Truthfully, I do not know. I cannot see myself meekly returning to the Chantry, after all that has happened. Nor can I now see any point in returning to Starkhaven. I could, perhaps, dedicate myself to hunting down and killing Anders for what he has done, and yet... I am sure the Chantry will be turning its own resources to such a thing, and its resources are far, far greater than anything I could muster. No matter where he has gone, he is a dead man; it is only a matter of time until his death catches up with him. After what he has done here, there is no where he can go that they will not seek him out, even if it required sending bards to the black tower in Minrathous itself to see justice done."
Cullen nodded silent agreement, staring down at his own half-empty plate. A stray memory crossed Sebastian's thoughts. He frowned, and looked questioningly at the templar.
"You were both from Kinloch Hold, as I recall. Did you know him there?"
"Knew of him, yes, though I wouldn't say I actually knew him. I mostly served elsewhere in the tower than where he was. I only encountered him once or twice, once when he'd just been brought back to the tower after one of his escapes, and again after he'd first been let out of solitary confinement."
"Solitary confinement?" Sebastian said, surprised. "He never mentioned that. I suppose it wasn't for very long then?"
"A year," Cullen said quietly, setting aside his empty plate. "The last time they locked him up, it was for a full year, down in the cells under the tower. I heard rumours... he wasn't left entirely alone, you see. There are always those that abuse their power. There, here... in every tower. I don't think it was ever as bad in Ferelden as some of what I've seen or heard of here, but it wasn't good, either."
"Oh," Sebastian said softly, and swallowed, remembering a time shortly after he'd first joined Hawke's circle of friends, when he'd made overtures of friendship toward the mage, and been very firmly and angrily rejected. I was one of the lucky ones, Anders had claimed then. Perhaps that had been a lie, after all. He felt sick. It didn't excuse what the mage had done; nothing could ever do that. But perhaps it at least began to explain why he had done it.
"Will you be staying here then? Or going away?" Cullen asked after a while.
"I don't know. Staying, I suppose... I can't think of anywhere to go. Though perhaps it would be better if I left... the memories..."
"Yes," Cullen said said, very softly, a haunted look briefly in his eyes. "The memories."
Sebastian cocked his head to one side. "Is that why you left Ferelden?"
"In part. Greagoir felt it would be better for me to go. He gave me a choice of places; I picked Kirkwall because of what I'd heard of Knight-Commander Meredith. I admired her; her firmness, her resolve, her faith and reason."
"And now?"
"I mourn the commander she was, not the tyrant she ended as. The Knight-Commander I admired when I first came here would never have ordered a circle annulled for the actions of one mage, especially one who was not even part of the circle. She has often been... well, I would say firm, though some might say harsh. But I cannot believe that without the influence of this 'red lyrium' that was spoken of that she would have countenanced such a decision. Worse... I have seen evidence that leads me to believe she had sent for the Rite even before Anders' destruction of the chantry. I now believe that she was not entirely sane for some period of time; perhaps even going back years. There are decisions of hers I now question much more strongly than I did before, such as her allowing Hawke's mage companion to remain free."
"Companions," Sebastian said. "There were two; Anders, and a Dalish mage."
"Two? I... I wonder if she knew," Cullen said, sounding shocked.
"I'm not entirely sure she did," Sebastian said. "I find it hard to her imagine allowing the Dalish one to have remained free, had she known of her; the woman was a blood mage."
"A blood mage!" Cullen exclaimed, and gave Sebastian a shocked look, then frowned. "You knew this? Yet did nothing!?"
"I considered reporting it to the templars," Sebastian reluctantly admitted. "But I trusted Hawke, and when I'd heard that Anders had spoken out to Meredith in her very office, and she'd made no effort to prevent his leaving afterwards, I... I may have misjudged. I remained silent. I believed that there was no point in reporting them; that Meredith would take no action against them anyway, for whatever reasons of her own."
Cullen sat there lost in thought for a little while, then sighed and shook his head. "The misjudgement was not yours, but Meredith's. For rules to be fair they must be applied evenhandedly, not ignored on a whim or to show preference to someone because of their own personal power. Anders should never have been allowed to run free, no more than Hawke, or this Dalish, or any other apostate."
"So you believe that laws must apply equally to all, then?"
"Yes. In Ferelden, even the King can be held accountable to the law; he must answer to the Landsmeet for his actions. As must the nobles themselves."
Sebastian smiled crookedly. "And has such happened?"
Cullen shrugged. "A time or two. The nobles can and do flaunt the law at times, even the King – or Queen, or Regent – but they do so at their peril. In Ferelden, the nobles may administer the law, but they are not the law themselves, nor are they above it. Not like in Orlais, where the whim of a noble is the law of his lands."
"Interesting," Sebastian said, then sighed. "I am tired. I should rest some more. Thank you for all of your help."
Cullen nodded, and rose to his feet. "Do you need a hand...?"
"I think I can manage," Sebastian said. It took him two tries to rise to his feet, and he hobbled like an arthritic old man, but he made it back to the bed under his own power. "Have you heard... did they find...?"
Cullen looked sombre. "More bodies, yes. Survivors... no. Perhaps in the basements, if anyone was down there. If the arches held."
Sebastian nodded tiredly. "Likely no one, then."
"I would not give up all hope, not yet... sometimes there are survivors, even when you expect to find none. We found a few, after Uldred's rebellion... templars and mages who'd taken shelter in the basements, in locked storage areas and the like, barricading themselves in and waiting it out. And there was me... I survived, even after being in their hands. There might still be people living within the wreckage. Guard-Captain Aveline has organized things, she has people working on clearing the rubble in shifts, working toward the places where there would most likely have been survivors."
"If anyone can find living survivors, I suppose it would be her," Sebastian said.
"There's some talk of making her Viscount," Cullen said after a brief pause. "Despite her being one of Hawke's companions, not because of it. She and her guards saved much of Kirkwall in the aftermath of the explosion; many owe their lives and property to her fast action to end the rioting and restore order."
Sebastian nodded slowly. "She's a very capable woman. I would think she would be an excellent choice."
Cullen nodded agreement. "Well. I should go. I'll stop in again later, to see how you are, if you need anything..."
"Thank you, that is very kind of you," Sebastian said.
Cullen left. Sebastian curled up on the bed, straightening out the sheets somewhat first from the nest Fenris had left them in. He grimaced at the state of the bedding, which had been in need of a wash even before he'd slept on top of it all covered in dust and grime, and bleeding. Not that it was the first time the bedding had been bled on; the elf had never liked submitting himself to Anders' healing ministrations for minor injuries. More than once Sebastian had arrived for a visit to find him lying sprawled on the bed, drinking from a bottle and ignoring the bloody smears some poorly-bandaged wound was leaving on the sheets. It was how he knew where Fenris stored bandages and the like; he'd tended the elf's injuries more than once.
He missed the elf already, he realized. And yet he doubted that, having finally left Kirkwall, Fenris would ever return here again. There wasn't anything here for him, really; once Danarius had been killed, it was only his friendships with Hawke and her companions that had kept him here. Now that most of the others had scattered... well, Sebastian doubted that his friendship alone was enough to draw the elf back. Especially when Fenris had no reason to even know he was still here.
He would miss him; true friendships in his life had been rare.
Sebastian was able to move more normally when he woke again; still stiff and sore, but no longer feeling half-crippled from overworked muscles, strains, sprains, and bruises. He hobbled around the room, knowing where Fenris liked to cache food, and managed to scrape together a meal, of old hard bread, a link or two of dry smoked sausage, some cheese that, while soft and sweating, was still edible. The tin canister in the cupboard near the table was still more than half full of the good tea he'd brought the elf as a gift some weeks ago, a northern variety, with a somewhat fruit-like flavour to it. He remembered how Fenris' eyes had lit up as he opened the tin and smelled it, and the pleasure with which he'd brewed some for both of them to share, while they sat and talked late into the night.
He found himself missing the elf's presence again. He'd always enjoyed talking with him. Enjoyed looking at him, as well, though he'd never done anything more than look. Just because he'd sworn celibacy didn't mean he was immune to noticing the physical charms of another, and it did no harm for him to quietly enjoy watching the elf. Or of other companions of Hawke's, he thought, and smiled, thinking of Isabela. A pity they hadn't crossed paths in his own wilder days... well, wherever she was now, he wished her well. And Fenris, too. Perhaps the pair of them were even together; Fenris had spoken admiringly of her a time or two, and there'd been certain looks he'd seen the pair exchange a time or two in recent weeks...
He sighed, and made himself a cup of tea, and sat by the guttering fire, trying to decide what to do with his life. Remain here? He entertained a brief fantasy of acquiring this building, repairing it and cleaning it up, living here, not as Fenris had done, a ghost in its halls, but as the owner. But it was only a fantasy; he had no money to buy such a place, much less repair it, and could think of nothing he could do here in Kirkwall to earn enough to do so.
That was another problem, he found himself thinking, and frowned. His home was destroyed, and almost all of his few possessions with it. He had no money of his own, beyond the bit of coin that had been in his belt pouches, and the belt was now gone anyway, along with all the rest of his armour. He had no place to live, apart from squatting here until someone saw fit to kick him out. He had no job, no income... he supposed he could go for a mercenary, if nothing else. Assuming he could find a half-decent bow; his own, like the armour, being gone now.
He was making a mental list of his skills – archery, some basic cookery and very basic sewing, bread-making, reading and writing, mathematics – when he heard the distant sound of the front door opening and closing, and then footsteps on the stairs.
"Cullen?" he called out, and was uneasily aware of the fact that if it wasn't Cullen – if it was someone hostile – he had nothing with which to defend himself.
"Yes," Cullen called back, to his relief, and a moment later stepped through the door of the room. He was not wearing his usual distinctive armour, but simple clothing instead – loose leggings, a shirt made of unevenly dyed cloth with smocked shoulders, leather boots – the sort of plain, rough garb any farmer or drover might wear. He was carrying a basket on one arm, vegetables visible within it. "I thought you might need some food."
"I do," Sebastian humbly admitted. "Thank you again. I regret that there is currently no way I can repay you for your help and generosity."
Cullen smiled, and shrugged. "Is it not when someone is unable to help themselves that we should help them most?"
Sebastian blinked, then smiled warmly back at the other man. "Yes, it is. You are a man of faith," he said, with some faint surprise.
Cullen shrugged again, and walked over to set the basket down on the table, then began taking things out of it. "I am a templar."
"Yet not all templars have faith; I have seen this, while accompanying Hawke. To many it is just a job, no more special than being a guard, or a mercenary."
"Yes," Cullen agreed, and paused in setting down a sealed crock on the table, hand resting on it as he turned and glanced at Sebastian. "And there are the ones to whom it is not just a job, but a job with perks," he said bitterly, then frowned and returned to setting things out. "Is it the same in the priesthood?" he asked after a short silence.
"Not to as great a degree, at least not that I have seen... with priests who lack proper faith, it is power that is, I think, the lure, more than any perquisites. We are expected to live a life of humility, after all... to dress modestly, to act kindly, to dedicate ourselves to Andraste and the Maker, not to earthly pleasures and temptations."
"Yet not all priests are humble, modest, or kind," Cullen said, setting aside the empty basket, then turned and leaned back against the edge of the table, looking questioningly at Sebastian. "Or beyond temptation."
"No. Yet many are; the best of us are. There are always those who will find excuse to use greater station to gain greater comforts for themselves; who when given power will use it to the benefit of themselves or their associates, rather than for the use for which it is intended. Part of why I admired Elthina so greatly was that she was not that sort; her robes were cut from the same cloth as ours, her personal quarters no finer, and only bigger so as to accommodate the needs of her role within the Chantry. When she could find time for it among her other duties, she still performed the same chores the rest of us did; working in the garden, baking bread to distribute to the poor, and the like. If she had any failing..." He trailed off.
"If she had any failing?" Cullen prompted after a period of silence.
Sebastian sighed. "If she had any failing, it was in her disinclination to use her power outside of the chantry. I know she did not agree with the amount of secular power Knight-Commander Meredith had accumulated, especially following Viscount Dumar's death, and yet she did nothing to curb the woman. I believe she felt that she had no more right to interfere in the workings of Kirkwall than Meredith did; I believe she felt that imposing a solution on the city was not her choice to make, and that she expected the nobles and citizens to stand up, to name their own chosen ruler and quell Meredith themselves. I... believe she may have been wrong to not act," he admitted.
Cullen looked thoughtful, then slowly nodded. "You may be right. I don't think Meredith ever really saw her own powers as being contained or constrained, as something she only had the right to exercise within the grounds of the Gallows, or with mages. If it could be argued that it would affect mages and her ability to control them, she felt it was within her right to do, no matter what it involved. There was a time I merely thought her... dedicated. Resolved. Only now, looking back, do I see how unbending and ruthless she often was."
Cullen straightened up again, arms dropping back down to his sides. "Did you know her sister was a mage?" he asked, then turned away to look over the things he'd set out on the table.
"Meredith's?" Sebastian asked, surprised and shocked. "No, I hadn't heard. What happened to her?"
Cullen was silent a moment, moving things around on the table. "She was an apostate. Meredith and the rest of the family protected her. Something happened... I never heard just what, but she became an abomination. She destroyed their entire village, killed almost everyone in it, before she was finally killed herself. Meredith was one of the very few survivors."
"Oh," Sebastian said softly. "That explains... much, about her attitudes."
"I used to think so," Cullen agreed, then sighed and looked up. "Are you hungry? Have you eaten yet?"
"Yes to both; I scrounged up a meal some time ago, but I could certainly eat again," he said, and levered himself stiffly to his feet and limped over to the table. "What have you brought?"
There was vegetables, a bit of cooked meat still on the bone, a small bag each of oatmeal and barley. The crock proved to hold honey. "I'll make a pottage," Sebastian said, looking everything over.
"You know how to cook?" Cullen asked, sounding faintly surprised.
Sebastian smiled, amused by his surprise. "Yes. One of the many skills I learned in the Chantry; we all take our turns in the kitchen. I can make a few simple things, soups and stews and pottages and the like. And bread; I'm good at baking bread."
Cullen grinned. "Too bad I didn't buy you any flour, then. I bought bread instead," he said, flipping open a folded cloth to show a small pile of hard rolls. "I'm not much good at cooking myself, never had any reason to learn, but I know how to scrape off peels and slice things up. If there's a knife," he added.
Sebastian nodded, and pulled open the drawer of the cupboard where the tea canister and a few other odds and ends were stored, display a collection of random pieces of cutlery and a few knives. "Careful, he keeps them very sharp," he warned as he passed a small knife over, taking a slightly larger one himself.
Cullen sucked air through his teeth after incautiously testing just how sharp the blade was, and thereby shaving a thin layer of skin off the end of his thumb. "So I see," he said, and frowned at his thumb – thankfully not bleeding – and then set to work on scraping the skin off several carrots.
Sebastian claimed the joint of meat, cutting most of the flesh off and dicing it, then set it aside and put the bone in a pot with some water, and put it over the fire to heat for stock. He joined Cullen in preparing vegetables, peeling and chopping onions while Cullen moved on from the carrots to some parsnips and a turnip. The peelings and the green tops of the vegetables went into the pot to flavour the stock, along with some salt scraped off a loaf of it – also found in the cupboard – and a sprinkling of dried herbs from the same source, after Sebastian had sniffed cautiously at them to determine whether they were medicinal or edible.
"That will need to simmer for a while and be strained before we add anything else," he said, nodding at the stock pot. "Will you stay? Or do you have somewhere you need to be?"
"I'll stay," Cullen said after only a very slight hesitation, then frowned slightly at Sebastian. "Do you not have any proper clothes you can wear?"
Sebastian smiled. "Only the boots and leggings I was wearing when you brought me here, which are in need of a good washing, and this nightshirt. Fenris did not have an extensive wardrobe, and was rather smaller than I am, you perceive. And all my own clothing was in my room in the chantry."
"Ah. I'll bring you some clothing the next time I come then."
"Thank you. I am even deeper in your debt."
Cullen smiled, and made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "Don't worry about having to pay me back. Just pay it forward, to the next person or two you find yourself able to help."
That made Sebastian smile, and he nodded acceptance of Cullen's terms. "Of course," he said, then tilted his head. "Do you drink at all?"
Cullen smiled crookedly. "Sometimes. I try to avoid doing it to excess though; I did too much of that, after the rebellion. Not that it helped at all."
Sebastian nodded. "It never does," he agreed. "Apart from making you briefly forgetful, when it doesn't force you to remember, instead." He fetched a bottle from the cupboard, and found a pair of cups that only needed a little dust wiped out to be clean, then paused. "Huh... how to open this."
Cullen's eyebrows rose slightly. "Don't know where he kept his corkscrew?"
Sebastian grinned. "Fenris never had any need for one. His one good party trick, he would say, and just remove the cork by hand."
Cullen frowned, puzzled. "By hand?"
"You are aware of his abilities, surely? I know you've fought alongside him once or twice," Sebastian said, and began looking through the things in the drawer, hoping there might be one there.
"That magic-that-isn't-actually-magic of his? When he lights up in battle?"
"Yes. He can reach into and through things, when his lines are active. If you've ever heard anyone talking about him ripping hearts out, they were speaking quite literally. He can use his powers to reach into someone's body and selectively handle the wobbly bits inside. And never needs a corkscrew to remove a cork. Aha, this will do," he said, and pulled a nut-meat pick out of the drawer, stabbing it at an angle deep into the cork, using the pick to carefully lever and twist it out. He poured, handing one cup to Cullen before carrying the other and the open bottle over to a bench near the fire, sitting down at one end and gesturing for Cullen to take the other, setting the bottle down between them.
"Maker, that's good wine," Cullen exclaimed in surprise after cautiously sipping at it. "Your friend has expensive tastes."
Sebastian grinned. "Yes and no. He does, but he didn't buy this; his ex-master kept a very well-stocked wine cellar down in the basements here. Somewhat less well-stocked after Fenris having lived here for most of a decade; he took particular delight in drinking all the most expensive vintages first, you see."
That made Cullen laugh. "I like the way he thinks."
Sebastian grinned. "It does have a certain satisfactory feeling of justified retribution to it, does it not?" And then sighed. "I shall miss him."
"You and he were close."
"Yes, though only as friends, nothing more," Sebastian felt obligated to point out. "We merely enjoyed talking to each other."
"About what?" Cullan asked, sounding mildly surprised.
Sebastian smiled. "About anything and everything. He was not widely read – it was only in the last few years that he learned that skill at all – but he had a phenomenal memory, and his master was much-involved in the social and intellectual life of the Imperium. So while he may not have read Isarius' infamous book 'On Being and Becoming', he had heard almost every word of it read aloud and greatly debated in the salons of Minrathous. And remembered what he'd heard, and formed his own opinions."
"On Being and... isn't that one of the banned books?"
"Yes."
"But you're read it?"
"Yes," Sebastian said, and smiled. "My grandfather's younger brother had a heretical and enquiring turn of mind. And the Vael family never disposed of a book after acquiring it. Our library was – is – quite large, and has some quite unusual and rare volumes in it. As I recall the only reason I actually read that one was because it was banned; as a youth I was generally more fascinated by the ones with interesting etchings than heretical arguments.."
That made Cullen grin. "I suppose we all were, at that age. Not that there were any such in the library of the monastery where I received my training, of course, but there were always those few volumes that no one admitted to actually owning, and just sort of generally circulated among the boys, growing more dog-eared, well-thumbed and, err... distressingly stained, over the years."
Sebastian laughed. They shared reminiscences for a while, of what it had been like for Cullen, going from being a simple farmer's son into templar training, and for Sebastian, going from being the libertine son of nobility to nothing but a lay brother in the chantry. They'd opened and were halfway through a second bottle by the time the barley pottage was made and ready to eat, and it was going dark outside before Cullen finally departed, heading back to the Gallows and his duty.
Cullen didn't return the next day, nor the one after that. Sebastian was feeling much more himself, having recovered from the physical strain he'd put himself through. Though he found himself feeling much less himself mentally. He'd wake, and find himself wanting to just roll over and go back to sleep, because at least when he was sleeping he wasn't thinking about those last few days, about Elthina and all the others he had known, now dead or fled. About how lost he felt, how hopeless and helpless.
He knew he had to give thought to his future, begin making plans; begin, if nothing else, looking for work to support himself, if he wasn't intending to return to the chantry. Even that was a decision he went back and forth on, sometimes feeling absolutely certain that it was where he belonged, and at others feeling like it was the last place he should be.
He had to force himself to get out of bed, to eat, to care for himself. He washed out his leggings and smalls and stockings, so he'd at least have more to wear than the nightshirt, and then just left them hanging, and curled up in bed with a bottle, understanding now why Fenris had sometimes done that. Though he regretted it when he woke with a sore head and a painfully full bladder the next day, and his mouth tasting as if something had died and rotted there.
The next day he noticed the growing unwashed reek of himself, and forced himself to prepare a bath, and change into his cleaned clothes, then wash and hang up the nightshirt to dry. There was very little food left, even though he hadn't been eating much. He'd have to go out soon, or starve, he found himself thinking as he combined the last handful of oatmeal and the remaining scraps of food to make a thin gruel, more soup than pottage. He knew where he might find a few coins hidden about the room, Fenris liking to keep at least a little money on hand, and found himself feeling guilty at the thought of taking and spending the elf's money, even though the chance of Fenris returning here for it was almost non-existent.
The gruel eaten, he curled up in the chair by the fire with a bottle, and drank the whole thing himself, telling himself that tomorrow he would go out. He'd need clothing, food, and to start looking for work... but tomorrow was soon enough. Or perhaps the day after; there was plenty of wine, and it wouldn't hurt him to fast for a day or two anyway...
A touch to his shoulder startled Sebastian awake. He stared at the figure standing by the bed, dressed all in armour, for a moment thinking it was Cullen back at last, until he finally focused on the face looking disapprovingly down at him. "Aveline?"
"You're a mess," she said sharply, and made a face. "And drunk, by the smell of it," she added, then stepped back from the bed, looking around the room before frowning down at him again. "When was the last time you ate?"
He stared at her, wondering why she was even here, then frowned in thought. "A day or two ago, I think. What day is it?"
She snorted. "Maker. All right, you're coming with me. Gather up anything you want to take with you. You can't stay here."
"Why not?" he asked, as he struggled to sit up.
She frowned. "Because I'd rather not be back here a week from now watching your corpse being carried out, and clearly you're unable to look after yourself properly right now," she snapped, then grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet, steading him when he staggered and almost fell. "Idiot," she said. "Are you trying to drink yourself to death?"
"No," he said, and then flushed, only then realizing that he was dressed in nothing but his smalls.
"I brought you some clothes," she told him, and released his arm, watching for a moment to be sure he had his balance before turning away and stalking over to where she'd left a basket sitting on the bench near the fire.
"You knew I was here?" he asked, startled.
"As of this morning, yes. Cullen asked me to check in on you, since he couldn't. He was worried about you."
"Cullen? How is he?"
"Not good," she said, as she brought the basket over and set it on the foot of the bed, then glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "They've arrested him."
"The guards?"
"No, of course not the guards. The bloody damned chantry! A ship full of templars and priests arrived from Cumberland a couple of days ago; word had reached them about what happened here, and they came here to investigate. I've got the Gallows and half the docks being held by foreign templars, and instead of dealing with them, I'm here seeing that you haven't drunk yourself to death," she said, anger evident in her voice, though he didn't think it was actually directed at him. then dumped out the contents of the basket. "I couldn't recover all of your armour, but here's what I could find," she added. "And some other clothing. I hope I got the sizes right."
Sebastian stared at the pile. His leather and scale coat, minus the gold-trimmed breastplate, the leather archer's glove for his right hand, and his belt, the buckle stripped of its gold ornamentation, the white enamel cracked and stained. It had flaked off entirely from one of Andraste's eyes, the darker metal underneath giving her a strange look, as if she had one eye wide open and the other shut. He picked it up, running one thumb gentle along the curve of her cheek. "Thank you," he said softly, then put down the belt and picked up a shirt. Plain linen, a little tight across the shoulders when he drew it on, but wearable. He pulled on a pair of the stockings she'd brought, and then his leggings – still clean, thankfully – and the scale-sewn coat over top. The gauntlet and belt he dropped back into the basket, along with the remainder of the clothing, then looked around the room, frowning as he considered what else he should take with him.
Aveline had withdrawn to give him some privacy while he changed, and was standing with folded arms gazing into the unlit fireplace. "How bad is it?" he asked her, as he opened the cupboard and took out the half-full tin of tea to add to the basket – no sense in letting it go to waste – and what was left of the crock of honey, and then steeled himself and circled the room, opening all of Fenris' little caches that he knew about and gathering up the coins within. If they ever met again, he'd pay it back, and if not... well, he'd just have to pay it forward.
She looked up, frowning slightly when she saw what he was about. "It's pretty bad. Both the Nevarrans and Orlais would be happy to snap Kirkwall up as part of their own territory, and they may use this as a pretext to do so. I received word on the ship's arrival soon enough that I was at least able to contain the Nevarran templars to the docks for now, but that might not work for long; the Qunari certainly had no trouble invading the city from there," she said, a touch bitterly.
"The qunari had gaatlok and surprise on their side," Sebastian pointed out, picking his belt out of the basket long enough to pour the handful of coin he'd gathered into one of the belt pouches. "I doubt the Nevarrans are as well-prepared; they likely expected no resistance at all to their landing here. They probably expected the city to still be in complete turmoil."
"We're not all that far from it. Most of my people have been working double-shifts since the explosion, keeping a lid on things. I've had to impose a curfew in most of the city. If it wasn't for Varric and his merchant's association and a few of the more far-sighted nobles throwing their weight behind me..." She sighed, and shook her head. "I'm holding on to order by my fingernails. The only good thing about the situation at the moment is it's brought most of the factions together; if there's one thing almost everyone can agree on, it's that we have no wish to become part of Nevarra or Orlais."
Sebastian grinned briefly at the tone of mixed annoyance and relief in her voice. He added a last few things the basket – a goblet Fenris had sometimes used, at least when not just drinking directly from the bottle, a book about Shartan that Hawke had once given the elf, a beautifully bound copy of the Chant of Light he'd given Fenris himself – and picked it up. "That's everything," he said, and looked regretfully around the room, wondering if he would ever return here.
"You'd better let me carry that," Aveline said, frowning at him. "I'd rather not have you fainting in the street."
Sebastian flushed. "I'm not that far gone."
She snorted, and pointedly held out her hand. "You haven't seen yourself in a mirror lately, I'm guessing. Come on, hand it over."
His flush darkened, but being well-familiar with just how stubborn the woman could be, he surrendered the basket, and followed her down and out of the building. "Where are we going?" he asked as he walked with her down the street to the stairs.
"The Keep. I've taken over a number of rooms there for my guards and their families to stay in while we're getting the troubles sorted out; they work better when they're not worried about the safety of their own, and its safer for them to all be there than scattering off to their homes. You can stay there for a while too, while we figure out what to do with you."
"Thank you," he said quietly, then frowned. "How was Cullen when you last saw him?"
She sighed. "Well enough; they have him under house arrest in the Gallows, while they investigate his actions during the rebellion. I refused to speak with them until they let me see him; insisted that he's the only local templar whose power I currently recognize, and that if they didn't let me speak with him I'd have no choice but to assume they were here without proper Chantry authority, and deal with them accordingly. They didn't like that at all, but they finally brought him to the docks long enough to speak with me before hauling him off again." She felt silent for a few paces, then spoke again. "I don't think they've abused him or put him to the question, if that's what you're asking, but I'm not sure what they intend to do with him."
"He thought it unlikely he'd be allowed to remain in power here, after his part in the muting against Meredith, no matter how in the wrong she herself was. He told me he thought it likely that he'd be reduced to a mere templar again."
Aveline's lips pressed together in a thin line. "A waste. He's a good man; we'd be far worse off if he and his templars had supported Meredith. Varric's told me about what happened at the Gallows. Damn the woman, anyway... well, at least she'd gone now, and if we can just keep a lid on the Nevarrans and keep any like-minded Orlesians out, we might have a chance of doing something to improve things in Kirkwall now, without her eternal meddling. Though that's a couple of pretty big ifs."
"If there's anything I can do to help..."
Aveline snorted, then paused a moment before resuming walking, a thoughtful look on her face. "There might be."
"Oh?"
"You're known among the nobles here; more, you're known to have been very high in Elthina's regard. I'm no good at dealing with nobles, they always want the law to only apply to other people and not to them. But maybe you can help me with them; at least give me advice on dealing with them, and maybe even on what arguments to use against these damned Nevarran priests. City law I know; chantry law I'm less familiar with. Are you?"
"Familiar with chantry law? Yes," he agreed, and frowned in thought himself. "They're well out of their area of authority here, and yes, there are rules it might be worth reminding them that they're supposed to be following. Certainly it can't hurt to try."
"Good. We'll get you settled in at the Keep, and fed, and then I'm going to want to pick your brain."
Sebastian smiled thinly. "Pick away. Whatever I can do to help you – and Cullen, for that matter, after all the help he's given me of late – I will do."
His first glance in a mirror showed Sebastian what Aveline had meant; he'd lost considerable weight, his cheekbones showing with a sharpness they'd lacked before, cheeks hollowed, dark bags under his eyes, chin and cheeks coated with heavy stubble. Seeing his face so changed startled him; apart from the stubble and dark hair, he looked very much like his memories of his grandfather, at least as much as he remembered of his features. When he removed his clothes to bathe and change, he noticed how prominent his ribs were, how drawn in his belly.
How many days had it been, since he'd last eaten properly? It worried him that he couldn't even be sure of how many days it had been since the destruction of the chantry, but they all blurred together in his head, the count made impossible by how broken his sleep pattern had been ever since, so that he'd sometimes slept more than once in a day, and not been sure when he woke if he'd slept only an hour or two, or an entire day.
He bathed, cleaning himself thoroughly from head to toe, and changed into clean clothes. He was sitting near the window drying his hair when there was a knock on the door, which proved to be Aveline returning, with food for him; bread sops in broth.
"You should eat lightly after not having eaten properly for some time," she informed him. "If you have no problems with digesting that, you can have a real meal later."
He smiled crookedly, and picked up the spoon, eating slowly while she questioned him about applicable chantry law for the problem with the Nevarrans. She was looking pleased by the time he'd talked himself out.
"I'll be back to talk to you again tomorrow," she told him. "We'll have to see about getting you some better clothing if you're going to be my aide. I'll send Bran to see you tomorrow, he's got good clothing sense and will know what's appropriate."
"The seneschal? He's still here?"
"Yes, he's been taking care of the civil side of things. Doing his best to keep the city running normally. I don't think he's left the keep since the explosion – rumour is he's got a cot or bedroll hidden away somewhere, and sleeps in his office to be sure he's on hand if needed. I'm just thankful someone is doing it; I have enough on my plate already without worrying about whether people are still paying their taxes or have the proper licenses and permits. Not that I think this is necessarily a time when things like that should be worried about, but the more normal things seem to be, the happier everyone else is. And if being reminded their quarterly tax is due next week makes the merchants happy, I'm hardly going to argue. Especially since the city needs the money to pay my guardsmen. And you, I suppose – if you're going to be my aide, you'll be getting a salary as well as temporary housing."
"Thank you," Sebastian said.
Aveline made a dismissive gesture as she rose to her feet. "It's only fair. Anyway, Bran will discuss that with you as well – I'm sure he has a bit of paper somewhere that outlines what sort of pay is fair. He seems to have bits of paper for almost everything. I'll see you again tomorrow, after I've met with the Nevarrans again."
"You understand I wouldn't do this for just anyone," Bran said stiffly as he stretched a knotted cord along Sebastian's arm from shoulder to wrist. "I'm a busy man. I have other things I should be doing. But the Guard-Captain insists she needs you suitably dressed to talk to the nobles and priests on her behalf, and that she trusts me to know what's appropriate for your station."
"She spoke well of your dress sense," Sebastian said agreeably.
Bran sniffed dismissively, but looked briefly pleased. "I do have an eye for fashion," he agreed, and jotted down the measurement he'd taken, then took another, wrapping the string around Sebastian's chest this time. "Thankfully I know a tailor who'll be able to make you suitable clothing in good colours and fabrics quickly; it will take a day or two before the first outfit arrives, but he does lovely work. A little expensive, perhaps, but you pay for speed. In this case quite literally; the cost of the outfits will come out of your pay, though I'll spread it out so that you'll still have enough money for whatever other needs you have."
"I'll need a good bow, arrows..."
"Not my area of speciality," Bran cut him off. "Anyway, you won't need a weapon to speak with nobles."
"Hopefully not," Sebastian agreed, amused. "But this is Kirkwall. I would not like to walk the streets without a weapon after dark, if I have cause to be out and about."
"True, I suppose. The guards have an armoury; you may be able to find something there that will do you until you can have something properly made to your own specifications," Bran said, mollified.
"Thank you, I will check the armoury as soon as I am able to. When will I be paid?"
"I'll send you an advance against your first pay packet tomorrow morning, once I've finished the necessary paperwork. You'll be paid weekly after that, at the end of each week's work. Clothing expenses will begin being deducted after I've received the bill for it."
Bran took a few more measurements, instructing Sebastian on how to take a couple of the more indelicately placed ones himself, and then left with his string and notebook.
"You look pleased," Sebastian told Aveline as he let her into the room later that day.
"I am. The Nevarrans have agreed – rather reluctantly, I might add – that they have no authority in Kirkwall itself, and have withdrawn the templars they had in the docklands to the Gallows. I'd prefer to have them gone entirely, but that's at least a slight improvement in the situation. If only I could get rid of them entirely..."
"I've an idea of two about that. Surely I wasn't the only member of the Chantry who was outside of it when it was destroyed; do you know if any of the senior clergy survived?"
"Yes, there's a handful of religious who survived for one reason or another, though mostly lay sisters rather than priests, and one of the two priests who did survive is in a bad way. Not physical injury, but..." she trailed off.
"I understand. Do you know names?"
"Sister Bernice, Mother Petra, Sister Hagnild, Brother Jorem, and Mother Livia."
"Livia! I hope she is not the one in a bad way...?"
"No, that would be Petra. Livia is injured, however; she was in the gardens when it happened, and was thrown through an open gate by the blast; the impact when she landed broke one leg and fractured her ribs on one side. But it saved her life; half the west tower ended up in the gardens."
"I'll want to talk with her," Sebastian said firmly. "She was high in Elthina's counsels, and the most senior of the clergy you named. Lacking any instructions to the contrary from higher in the church after the deaths, it is she that would be the Revered Mother for Kirkwall at present, and arguably even the acting Grand Cleric for the Free Marches, at least until one is formally elected by the College of Clerics. There is precedent for it, anyway. If Livia is willing to co-operate with you, she may be of use against the Nevarrans. And from what I remember of her politics, she would not side with them. Though I will warn you that she may be of less use if an Orlesian force arrives; they would likely arrive here with proper authority, whereas the Nevarrans most decidedly have not."
Aveline nodded slowly. "Right. We'll worry about that if and when it happens. Right now I just want the Nevarrans gone."
Sebastian glanced at Aveline's face as she watched the Nevarran ship sailing away out the neck of the harbour. It was set in an expression of distaste.
"Well, that's over with finally," she said, sounding pleased, then glanced down the docks to where Mother Livia was being helped aboard the ferry for the trip over to the Gallows to see what condition the departing Nevarrans had left the place in. "I'm not looking forward to this," she added, and started walking that direction herself, gesturing for a group of her guards that were waiting nearby to go ahead and board as well.
"Neither am I," Sebastian agreed quietly. It had taken over a week to convince the Nevarrans to leave, even with Mother Livia's help; Sebastian could only wonder what the place was like, between all that had happened there several weeks ago, and whatever might have occurred while the Nevarrans held it. They were guardedly relived to see figures moving around at the dock as the ferry approached, and then worried afresh when they drew close enough to see that they were all tranquil.
"Where are all the templars," Aveline said softly as the ferry moved in to dock, several of the tranquil moving to catch and tie the ropes to bollards.
It was the first question Mother Livia asked as well, as she was helped ashore, her splinted leg making movement difficult for her. "Where are our templars?" she asked loudly, peering short-shortsightedly at the closest tranquil, a blond female whom Sebastian belatedly recognized as Meredith's secretary Elsa.
"This way," Elsa said, and turned and walked off, several of the tranquil accompanying her, the rest just standing silently after finishing tying up the ferry.
Sebastian and Aveline disembarked, following along in the wake of the Revered Mother's party. He hissed in shock as they emerged from the passageway from the docks into the Gallows courtyard. He'd heard of what had happened here, but seeing the ruins himself... the missing and destroyed statuary, the darkened patch on the pavement that he guessed must be where Meredith had died, made it real for him in a way that mere words couldn't.
Aveline swore, but for an entirely different reason he realized when he looked the direction she was. More tranquil, laying a row of bodies in the shade to one side of the courtyard. Men, women, even children, all dressed in robes... the few mages who'd survived the rebellion. No, not laying out bodies, he saw as they drew closer – tending them. Not all were dead, though many were, those who weren't dead all marked with the tranquil brand. And not all of the dead were mages; to one side was a handful of templars, all clearly having died to sword wounds, most of them not even in their armour but instead in their off-duty clothing, recognizable as templars only because Sebastian knew their faces.
"What was done here?" Livia demanded loudly, face creased with anger. "Who has done this thing?"
It was Elsa who answered, voice flat and emotionless, as Tranquil always spoke. "The Nevarrans have annulled the Kirkwall circle. They gave all the mages a choice; death, or tranquillity."
Livia trembled visibly, for a moment unable to even speak. "And these templars?" she asked, gesturing at the bodies.
"They tried to prevent it."
Livia closed her eyes, lips moving in prayer for a moment. "I will want to know their names," she said when she was done, sounding almost eerily calm. "Their names, and whatever of their stories any of you can tell me. They faced a great evil here, and I say the choice they made was the right one; to resist, even if it cost them their life." She looked at the mages as well, the dead, the tranquil, her face setting. She looked as emotionless as a tranquil herself, though Sebastian knew her well enough to know that this was a sign that she was too overcome to wish to show her feelings.
Sebastian frowned, searching the faces of the dead himself. "I don't see Cullen among them," he murmured softly to Aveline.
She nodded, and stepped forward, gaining Livia and Elsa's attention. "What of Knight-Captain Cullen? I do not see him among the dead, nor many others that I know were here before the Nevarran's arrival."
"This way," Elsa said calmly, and walked off again.
Livia commanded most of her escort to remain and help with the bodies, both the living and the dead, keeping only a pair of people to help her walk as they followed Elsa into the Gallows, stopping only once they reached a locked door.
"The Nevarrans took the keys with them," Elsa said, then slipped her hand within her sash, and drew out a ring of keys. "They did not know that I also have a set."
She opened the door, leading them inside and down a long spiral staircase, into an area of cells beneath the Gallows. Cells that were doubtless normally used to contain mages, Sebastian suspected, noticing glyphs and runes carved into the floor, the walls, even the bars and locks of the cells. Here were the missing templars, locked away two or three to a cell. Some showed signs of having put up a fight – bruises, cuts – but at least they were alive, and rose to their feet, excited to see faces they recognized and calling out worried questions.
"Free them," Livia ordered, speaking loudly to be heard over their voices. Elsa nodded once and moved from door to door, unlocking each with a different key, the templars spilling out into the hallway, some having to be supported by their companions. Livia waited until they were all released, then raised one hand for silence. "The Nevarrans have left," she told them. "But not without causing great harm first. Your charges..." Her voice trembled for a moment, her pain showing on her face for a moment. "The circle has been annulled. Your charges are all either dead or made tranquil. Go, give them what care you can, and care for yourselves as well. We will have to decide in the coming days what is to be done now, but first we must see to the comfort of the living, and the burning of the dead."
Aveline looked around, and frowned. "Where is Knight-Captain Cullen?"
Livia looked questioningly at Elsa. "The Knight-Captain?"
"This way," Elsa said again, and headed back the way they'd come.
Two of the templars took over from Livia's helpers, lifting her up bodily and carrying her between the two of, supporting her in their arms as if she sat in a chair, back up the stairs and then higher still in the Gallows, until Elsa finally stopped again, at another locked door, and opened it.
Sebastian thought the room empty at first, until there was movement in a shadowed corner, Cullen lifting his head from his knees to blink at them. He was almost naked, Sebastian saw, wearing just a stained pair of smalls, his skin dark with bruises, one eye swollen mostly shut, his lips swollen and split. He stared at them for a moment, expression as empty as a tranquil's, and then his eyes met Sebastian's and he smiled. "Sebastian," he croaked out, then looked at the others, recognizing them as well. "Guard-Captain, Mother Livia..."
He moved, as if to attempt rising to his feet, then winced and slumped back. "Forgive me for not rising," he rasped out. "I fear they broke my ribs. Among other things," he said, and only then did Sebastian notice the state of his hands, bruised and swollen, several fingers obviously either dislocated or broken, judging by their odd angles.
Aveline cursed fulsomely. Livia sniffed. "Seconded. Does anyone know if there's a healing mage left alive anywhere in the city? We'll need one here, and for more than just the Knight-Captain. We used to have several quite good ones," she added bitterly.
Cullen paled. "What has happened?" he demanded.
"Those blighted Nevarrans annulled the circle before they left," one of the templars that had accompanied them told him, voice angry.
Cullen's eyes closed, a look of pain on his face. "After all we did to try and save them."
"Yes. Curse them to the Black City for what they've done," the other templar said.
"I may be able to turn up a healer," Aveline interupted. "Though given what's happened here..."
Livia gave her a sharp look, then nodded understandingly, and turned away. "Help me back to the courtyard, if you please. There is much that needs doing here, and I trust the Guard-Captain's judgement. She and whomever she wishes to accompany her may come and go here without question, by my order."
"Thank you," Aveline called after her retreating back, then looked at Sebastian. "Stay here and do what you can for the Knight-Captain, I'll be back as soon as I may."
Sebastian nodded, and with the help of the templars moved Cullen out of the room and off to proper quarters, where Cullen ordered the templars off to see to the survivors in the courtyard.
"My turn to help you, it looks like," Sebastian said to Cullen. "At least for an hour or two."
Cullen smiled thinly. "So it seems," he said, and then looked over Sebastian's outfit. "You look like you've landed on your feet."
"I'm Aveline's aide now. She wanted someone who could help her deal with nobles. And the chantry."
Cullen nodded. "You're a good choice for that."
"I hope so."
"So you'll be staying on in Kirkwall then?"
"Perhaps. I've not decided yet. And you?"
Cullen frowned. "Ask me again in a few days. Maybe. Though right now what I mostly think is that I don't want to be a templar any more."
Sebastian nodded slowly. "Understandable. And a great loss, if you leave."
"Because I'm better than the alternative?" Cullen said, and made a face. "I don't know that I'd agree with that. Do you know what I once told Hawke?"
"That mages aren't people like us? Yes, I heard."
"Yeah," Cullen said, and looked away. "There was a time I believed that. When I wanted to believe that."
"What changed your mind?"
Cullen turned back, and smiled thinly. "Hawke herself, among other things. Pieces of work like Ser Alrik too, when I realized that was how he thought about mages. As not really human, so it was okay to treat them however he wanted to. I remembered that I didn't used to think of them that way; that I'd used to like mages. There was this one elf girl in particular..." He trailed off, a fond smile briefly on his lips, then shrugged. "The demons that played with my head... it was the fear they'd given me that was speaking, I realized. Men are good or bad separate from whether they are mundanes or mages. It just took me a while to remember that. And mundanes can do things every bit as horrific as what any mage-turned-abomination might," he added bitterly, then fell silent for a few minutes. "Annulled. How bad is it?"
"Pretty bad. They gave the mages a choice between death and being made tranquil. It looked to me like most of them chose death," Sebastian said quietly. "And they killed some of your men who'd tried to stop them."
A look of pain crossed Cullen's face. "Damn them."
Sebastian nodded, then shifted position. "I hope you stay," he said quietly. "Whether as Knight-Captain or not. I... have very few people I've ever considered to be friends. And I am tired of losing them."
Cullen gave him a searching look. "Are we friends?"
"I hope so. I enjoy your company, enjoy talking with you... though I will understand if you don't feel the same..."
"No, no, I do... it's just..."
"Just?" Sebastian prompted after a moment, when Cullen fell silent without completing the thought.
"Just that I, too, have had very few people I have thought of as friends," he said, almost shyly. "Of those that are still alive, at least as far as I know... well, there's you, and a childhood friend I haven't spoken to since before I left Ferelden. The others died at Kinloch Hold," he added bleakly.
Sebastian gave him a questioning look. "And you have no friends here?"
"No," Cullen admitted. "I was... strange, still, when I first came here. Haunted. And then once I started getting better, Meredith promoted me, and then promoted me again. After that what tentative friendships I'd managed to start all fell away. "
"Ah, yes. A phenomena I am familiar with," Sebastian admitted, remembering his own first few years in Kirkwall, and how between his noble past and Elthina's good regard and favour there'd been few willing to befriend him. He had eventually, over the years, managed to form at least a few friendships, though now... "Most of mine are dead too," he said softly. "Except Fenris, and you."
"Aveline? Hawke?"
He shrugged. "Aveline tolerates me, as I am of use to her. Perhaps in time we might become friends. Hawke... well, I told you how little she seemed to react when I might have been killed. I think now that our friendship may have been rather one-sided; that I thought of her as a friend, while she merely saw me as a useful body for when she needed an archer and Varric was not available. As to the others... possibly Isabela. Maybe. But not the others."
Cullen nodded slowly. "It sounds like we've both had rather lonely lives here."
"Yes," Sebastian agreed softly.
Cullen fell silent for a while, looking thoughtful. "A man should have friends."
"Yes."
Cullen smiled crookedly. "So... what have you been up to while I was entertaining the Nevarrans?"
Sebastian frowned slightly. "It's a long story," he warned.
Cullen gave a minimal shrug, wincing as the movement jarred his hands. "I'm not going anywhere. At least not right now."
Sebastian smiled, and began.