AN: Hi All!
Just a few things, firstly this story will be pretty dark over all. There will be an eventual relationship. It is the first part of a three part story. The second will run along side this one with Anders and Hawke and the third will be a sequel to both. Don't expect it to be all sunshine and roses!

I will be delving in to mental health issues so be warned. I will also be digging in to the not-so-nice side of the circles. This means torture, rape and other such activities will at least be mentioned, possibly with some detail.

It is set during the DA2 timeline. There are AU 'what if' scenarios with canon divergence. The sequel will be set during Inquisition.
Otherwise I hope you enjoy! Please feel free to drop me a line. I can take constructive criticism as I am always looking to improve my works.

Not many were stouthearted enough to venture out into the streets of Kirkwall at night, least of all alone. Darktown was home to the worst. Criminals of all varieties were attracted to the dark alley ways and run down abandoned buildings. It was also home to many civilians who simply could not afford to pay for accommodation. All too often they made the easiest targets for slavers or employers who only ever wanted to pay the smallest fee for the most work. It didn't help that many were desperate enough to accept even the lowest paid jobs. Hightown and Lowtown also saw their fair share of trouble at night. Some might even have said sections of Lowtown were equally as bad if not worse than Darktown for attracting unfavourable types. The blight had seen an increase in all such activities. So many were left homeless and desperate for a change in fortune.

The blight had also brought with it an increase in mage activities. There were apostates who, along with everyone else, had sought refuge in Kirkwall to flee the Darkspawn armies. Those who once they arrived did not even hold enough coin for passage away from the city.

In one of the lesser used alleyways of Lowtown, the sound of each clink from armored boots could be heard echoing with each step. He could feel rough skin against his scalp as he ran his fingers through the curly hair uptop his head. Cullen had come to despise these nights. Instead of decreasing as he hoped they would, the occurrences had increased in frequency. He came to a stop at the end of the alley. It was as close to The Hanged Man as he dared to venture so that he too, did not risk being caught. The air was still and humid, everything around him was almost eerily silent. Even in the stillness the scent of stale alcohol still reached his nose, which wrinkled involuntarily in response. Just how many drunken men or women had traversed the darkened alleyway, avoiding parents or angry spouses, and expelled the contents of their stomachs? It was one of those thoughts that assaulted his mind when he didn't even care for the answer.

The wait had not been a long one when the shrill whistle pierced through the silence. Hawke appeared around the corner with the protesting Templar's arm firmly in her grasp. The whistle was her way of letting Cullen know what to expect. She was dressed in her usual attire of black leather armor that served the purpose of making her lithe form appear larger. Out of the shadows from the buildings, as the moonlight caught them, the metallic studs scattered across the shoulder pads glinted. When caught by the light at the right angles almost blindingly so. A sword hung at her side, sheathed but easily accessible at a moments notice. Hawke always appeared ready to deal with any situation that might come her way. She had the appearance someone you didn't want to mess with unless you were serious about it. Her name was often mentioned in passing conversations and if there was any truth to the stories told, she was equally as tough as she appeared to be.

"I believe this belongs to you," she said as she approached Cullen. There was no delay in her actions when she gave the drunken Templar a shove in Cullen's direction. Normally she was poised with a hint of mischief in her eyes. However as he regarded her carefully her blue eyes were burning with a barely contained fury. Her shoulders were tense and her actions carefully measured as if she was only just holding herself back from unleashing a world of pain on whoever might be in the way.

The Templar stumbled and Cullen was quick to grip an arm to steady the man before he could fall. "Do I want to know?" He asked her with a wary expression. Once the Templar was steadied on his feet, Cullen dropped his arm back to his side.

"Hey! What did ya drag me out for? I coulda stayed for more ale." Berton protested. The slurring of his words were indicative of the alcohol he had already consumed. "I could have handled one stupid little mage."

"That mage was about to fry him. He is lucky I got him out when I did," she was addressing Cullen. For the most part she was ignoring the drunken antics of the other Templar.

If there was one thing about Hawke that had often caught his notice it was her more guarded nature around each of the Templars. Every word was carefully considered before passing through her lips. He suspected she might be assisting apostates but he had not managed to find proof of her activities.

'A mage? I don't suppose you-" any further words he was saying were cut off by her quick response. It was a dance they had performed many times over the past month. He always at least made the attempt even if it was futile.

"You know very well, that's not going to happen." After a moment of pause she continued, "Why do you keep dragging it out of the trouble it gets itself into anyway?" Her question was accentuated by the jerk of her thumb in Berton's direction.

Cullen shrugged, "He is young and when he is sober he performs his duties flawlessly."

Cullen thought Berton had shown great promise with his prowess in combat. He was also pleasant enough to converse with, when he wasn't drunk. However more and more the young man spent his nights in the bar downing countless mugs of ale and subsequently finding himself in troublesome situations. Regardless of Cullen's efforts to try and curb that particular habit of his, it had only become worse over the past month.

"Do those duties include torturing and raping mages in prison cells? That was the nature of his bragging tonight." The tone of her voice was as cold as ice. Hawke's eyes narrowed as she looked in Berton's direction.

"Sweet little thing she was, skin as smooth as silk. Why do all the pretty ones have to be mages?" Berton slurred as he stumbled, he fell to the ground with a resounding thump before Cullen even had a chance to steady him.

"Look, I have been here for a couple of months now and seen no evidence that those rumors hold any truth to them." He could feel the hair on the back of his neck prickling. What if the rumors were true? Members of the Templar Order were expected to behave favourably, to be a symbol of everything that was right and just. They were a symbol of protection to the people. There was no honor in such activities. "I will talk to Berton in the morning about his claims," Cullen glanced down at the form that was fumbling and slipping as he tried, yet failed, to stumble his way back up to his feet. "I doubt I will get much sense out of him tonight."

Hawke nodded and her tense shoulders relaxed slightly, "I wish you luck."

He watched her as she strode back down the alley. Just before turning the corner she met up with a hooded figure. They were too far away for him to make out the words they exchanged. It was made especially difficult to hear anything with Berton beside him slurring something about kicking a chicken, the man was clearly deliriously drunk. The hooded figure seemed careful to remain out the light cast onto the sidewalk by one of The Hanged Man's windows. However, as they turned to leave, the side of her hood slipped momentarily. She didn't seem to have seen him watching as she readjusted it and disappeared around the corner with Hawke.

Cullen's throat had begun to feel as if it was constricting, becoming ever tighter until he could barely breathe. It was only a quick glimpse but he would know that profile anywhere. The high set of her cheekbones. The smooth set of her jaw. Her almost flawless skin. He could even picture in his mind the parts shadowed by the dark. The slight imperfection where her earlobe attached to the side of her head and the freckle on the side of her nose. He remembered spending many hours watching that very same face from all angles. Committing every detail to memory but never daring to touch her. Although he wasn't the perfect Templar and broke his fair share of smaller regulations, there were some lines he would never cross.

Her presence in Kirkwall, under the veil of a dark cloak in an attempt to hide her identity could mean only one thing; She had escaped the circle and was now officially an apostate.

Seeing her meant it would be his job to report the sighting to the Knight-Commander.

Knowing her meant he would be tasked with locating her and taking her in.

He wasn't sure what disturbed him the most. Having to perform those tasks or the fact that he was almost looking forward to having another apostate hauled in and off the streets.

Beside him Berton let out a groan as he doubled over. The sour smell of alcohol and stale food assaulted Cullen's nose as the contents of the other Templar's stomach spilled out onto the sidewalk.

Cullen had really come to despise these nights.