What has been wrought
"Two suspicious knights, one piece of incriminating parchment and a depraved, desperate First Enchanter was all it took to cause the travesty that was the fall of Kirkwall's Circle of Magi - and subsequently the city state itself." Knight Lieutenant Trallis, 9:44 Dragon, Cumberland, during his speech to the College of Mages after the official dissolution of the Kirkwall city state.
25th Haring
9:34 Dragon
Kirkwall
"Ser!" Was the muffled words Cullen heard as he grunted in annoyance, swiping his hand at whoever was interrupting his sleep, cursing as the redoubled their efforts and grasped his shoulder tightly.
"Ser!?" The high-pitched panicked voice yelled again, coming through much clearer as Cullen snarled loudly, trying his best to look up and confront whichever fool knight had disturbed his rest.
Dark ringed, bloodshot eyes opened blurredly, the bright amber light around him forcing them shut as he let out a vile curse, doing his best to adjust to the almost overwhelming glowfrom across a bay of water. His sluggish mind was slowly trying to figure out where he was. Face being pulled into a grimace as someone yanked him round by the arm, causing him to moan lowly at the sharp burn of pain that flared from beneath his shoulder.
"Knight-Captain." A familiar voice snapped, forcing Cullen to finally glance up again to see the hazy form of Knight-Lieutenant Thrask staring at him in deep concern. "Cullen, we need to be ready!"
He tried to respond with words, but his mouth was dry and so very sore, the bitter taste of ash and blood made him gag a little before he felt the water being dribbled onto his lips from elder mans waterskin, his tongue greedily catching it before he surged forward to grasp the container and down the meagre mouthfall left in it.
Beyond the intense bickering of men all around him, Cullen could hear the howl of the wind, the roar of the waves and a sound he could only compare to a staccato of repeating thunder. He suddenly lurched violently as Thrask threw him to a wooden floor that he slowly realised was a deck, covering his ears as the elder Templar screamed out an order.
"Take cover!" He bellowed, covering Cullen with his body as the whine of something filled his head before the loud crashing of projectiles impacting onto water next to him, he shuddered as as cold, wet salted liquid covered his overheated skin, dripping amongst his armour and soaking the gambeson beneath.
"Keep your heads down knights!" Thrask called out again, covering his his own only a moment before something tore overhead of the pair, smashing into the guardrail of what Cullen had deciphered was a ferry and raining razor sharp splinters and debris across their armour.
Pulling himself into a ball, he began to recite a low prayer of the chant, pleading with the Maker to put an end to the barrage that was landing around him, whipping up waves and annihilating the vessel he was travelling on somewhere within the Kirkwall bay.
"Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm.
I shall-" He was cut off as he and Thrask were thrown left, the impact forcing the breath out of his lungs as he wheezed desperately, holding his stomach as he focused on blotting out the pain that ran all down his right side.
By the time he had opened his eyes once more, the Templars around him were coming to their feet in a daze, darting panicked looks to the hull of the ferry before falling back in relief and lying against what remained of the rails and mast. The world around his was remarkably quiet as he himself came to a trembling stand, clasping the damaged woodwork for support as he stared in horror across the boats bow.
The northern limits of Lowtown and the docks were alight in a blistering inferno, one that had swept all the way up to the waterfront and was spreading through the Altrada warehouses at a phenomenal speed. From the burning carcass of the streets behind it, thick plumes of dark chocking smoke rose high into the air, shrouding the upper limits of Hightown in a hazy screen of slate coloured fog, leaving only the blackedned silhouettes of the taller mansions, Chantry and Viscounts Keep visible through the thinning smog
The sky above the horizon, framed by malicious black clouds above a dark blazing red vista that was tinted with hues of orange and gold mixed deep into the backdrop from the fires below. Cullen blew out a shaky sigh as it all came back to him, glancing to Thrask who was swaying on his feet as he tried to speak. "The Qunari have half the bay zeroed with those cannons, we were lucky to get clear without any major damage." He yelled over the wind, hair matted with sweat and his beard coated with dried blood that had at one stage run down his breastplate, painting the Sword of Mercy in a coating of crimson and ash.
Around them, dozens of vessels were making haste towards the Gallows, avoiding those already struck by the Qunari and currently sinking amongst the violent waves from the damage. The waters around them were dotted with debris, flotsam and stragglers as they fought against the upsurges and swam for land, clinging desperately to whatever they could grasp to stay afloat.
"Thrask." Cullen rasped, trying to regain his bearing as he stumbled towards his second-in-command. "Are we the last?"
The man visibly paled, visibly swallowing as Cullen caught what remained of their company staring at the two officers for answers. "Aye, when we reach the otherside of the bay, that's it." He turned to cast a gaze over the bow of the ship, wilting as he took in the death and destruction around them. "Most didn't even make it to the ferries Knight-Captain, we can only hope Venton has restored some form of order to the fortress and gathered what of us remains."
"Andraste preserve us." The knights around them were shifting their gaze to the rear of the ferry, many swapping uneasy looks as Cullen strode to the front with Thrask at his side.
Through the embers, ash and smoke he could spot dozens of smaller vessels following them, each overloaded with hundreds of civilians as they swayed precariously atop the rising crests and swells of the sea. Many threatening to capsize from the weight alone, Cullen knew that no matter how much they needed shelter, the order was unable to provide it. The Gallows lay desolated in the aftermath of the rebellion and chapter schism, their supplies would never been able to sustain so many, no matter how few knights remained.
"We won't be able to provide security for them." He whispered, noticing Thrask give a mournful nod of agreement.
"The minute we make landfall, we must run for the gates, its our only chance or we risk being overrun." Thrask responded, shifting uncomfortably as Cullen clasped his head, feeling the burden of command more no than he could ever remember. He had never ordered actions that would definitely lead to civilian deaths, and he wasn't sure he would ever be comfortable with it.
"Templars, we make for the Gallows the moment we reach the pier, you are to stop for nothing. Once we pass the barbican, I want that portcullis dropped." He ordered loudly, fixing a glare to each of the thirteen knights on the deck.
At their salutes he drew himself to the edge of the ferry, asking Andraste to guide his steps as he braced himself, casting one look back behind him to see many of the civilian boats mooring themselves on the sands around them.
XXXXXXXXXXX
Cullen shuddered as his feet hit the hard stone of the Gallows main pier with an audible clatter, only years of experience wearing plate armour preventing him from losing his balance and careening over face first into the floor. Behind him he could hear what few remaining Templars he had left at his command, many cursing and groaning as they leapt from the ferry to join their Knight-Captain in his desperate, yet fatigued sprint back to the Gallows.
He could hear beyond the sound of staccato sound of repeated cannon fire and deep vibrations of explosives, beyond the screams and shouts of civilians, the crash of more cogs, fishing boats and water skiffs smashing into the jetties either side of them, hundreds upon hundreds of Kirkwall citizens yelling desperately for help as they ran blindly for the Templar fortresses gates.
"With me knights, we have to move!" He yelled over the chaos, drawing his men close as they surged through the isolated people around them, a vast crowd gathering only three dozen metres behind them and clambering after the armoured men as they called for help.
Each breathe was heavy and painful, the wind carrying hot dry air that made his lungs sting with each breathe. He was so tired…. So fucking tired after the longest night he could remember, his shoulder was caked in sticky blood, the wound from a two pronged Qunari blade having bitten deep into the soft tissue of his underarm. Only being prevented from going deeper after Cullen had thrust his own Silverite sword through the Kossith's throatto halt his momentum, painting his shoulder and breastplate in gore that filled his nose with the acrid scent of copper as he ran.
The cracked and damaged walls of the Gallows had never looked so appealing as he caught sight of the steps leading up to the outer courtyard barbican, feeling what must have been his fifth - second wind ushering him forwards as he finally put some distance between himself and the relentless hordes of civilians behind him. He could see the panicked stares of the two knights at the gate, both swapping horrified looks at the mass of people trailing after their brothers.
"Inside knights! Now!" He roared, ushering them through and finally stepping back himself, rushing past the outer gate and flinching as he heard the tense grinding of metal before the sharp clang of the first set of bars slammed shut. His men had done as he asked...
He closed his eyes in remorse, praying that the reasons for such a cruel act and those to come were justifiable to others.
Crashing into the portcullis like the violent waves of the Waking Sea on the jagged rocks of the Wounded Coast, the crowd surged relentlessly into the metal bars of the lowered portcullis, hands outstretched like desperate beggars, reaching through the grating as if they believed they could physically grasp the supposed salvation that was the desolated remains of the Gallows courtyard. Many screaming out obscenities and pleas, crying out for mercy in shrill and broken voices. Demanding that what remained of the cities Templar forces provided them refuge from the anarchistic tempest that was besieged Kirkwall.
They fought amongst each other like animals, clawing and snarling as they grew more frenzied and panicked. Cullen could only stare in horror as one man was crushed underfoot of another, his boot coming down hard on the back of the man's skull as if it were a bug or a snail that had gotten in the way of his path, his assailant was seemingly ignorant or uncaring as to what he had just done, his face set on the knights before him as he clung to the gate and howled at the Templars to open it.
How ironic it was that so many had rushed to the Gallows for safety, despite the dark and twisted reputation it had developed as as mage-prison in years passed, in the face of death, suddenly the tales and rumours surrounding it were obsolete. So many would have named it a malicious and depraved fortress ruled by a madwoman only days ago, that behind its vast Jet stone walls the very Veil itself was beginning to unravel in the face of so much cruelty, abuse and death. Now it was suddenly a sanctuary, a beacon of safety amidst the chaotic sprawl and inferno that had engulfed the city.
It was almost funny in a macabre way in how opinions had been changed in the face of death or conversion at the behest of the Qun.
The citizens of Kirkwall had always claimed that Meredith and her Templar chapter were the embodiment of corruption, that even despite a common fear of mages, many would never consider giving up an apostate and damning them to a slow and agonizing death in the tower dungeons. There was no respect and belief in the knights, and they were treated as an occupying force, spat upon and insulted at every turn like some foreign invaders.
And now here they were, the tables turned. The commoners begging the Templars that they had rallied against for so long for compassion, to help them in their time of need, even if a week ago few would have even given a passing glance if one of the knights before them lay dying on the streets of Lowtown, sparing as much empathy as they did tolerance for those that safeguarded them from uncontrolled magic.
Cullen had known that since his arrival in Kirkwall things had worsened by the day, and in the recent monthsthe rumours were rife with exaggerations and half truths, all the while only exacerbated by Meredith's paranoia and secrecy, giving the fabricated tales actual credence with the way she hid everything she could from the public eye. From the day he began his role as Knight-Captain, she had slowly shifted from stern and unmoving in duty, to cold and half-insane in her ideas. And now she lay dead, noting more than another corpse on a pyre, the alien blade she had wielded was safely stored away as many questioned the danger and power it held.
His lip burned as he pulled it into a thin line, the sharp pain of the stitches being pulled causing him to curse under his breath as he considered what had brought him to this moment.
Cullen was two things indefinitely in life, a Templar to his core, one that had upheld and represented the tenants and beliefs of the order for nearly eleven years. Only breaking a single vow over the period of the Blight, and in doing so nearly driving him to death through drink, lyrium and melancholy. He was a survivor above all else, no matter what he endured in life, his remarkable willpower drove him forward. He withstood the fall and subsequent torture of Kinloch, fought in the disordered and chaotic evacuations of South Reach and even served in the battles of Redcliffe and Denerim. He had believed that Kirkwall would give him a new start, one he had hoped would be free of the agony he had already suffered from his time in Ferelden.
He was wrong.
XXXXXXXXXXX
Above the crumbling stone crenelations and smouldering wrecked tower ruins, Cullen took a sharp breath as he spotted the sun cresting the edge of the cliffside, hidden amongst the dense smoke of the burning city before him, its form was nothing more than an intense pendant of powerful red light that pierced the near impenetrable smog that had risen from the inferno engulfing the eastern limits of Lowtown.
It was a new day and Kirkwall was as dark as the dead of night, the sunlight barely able to cut through the clouds of soot and embers that had taken residence above the city, casting the entire settlement into a seemingly permanent state of twilight that was rather poetic for a day that apparently wouldn't end. His mouth was thick and the taste of burnt wood and metal resided on his tongue, the air was hot and cloying, carrying heavy bitter ash that fell like snow amongst the ruins around him.
Cullen had long passed the point of nausea from the scent of death and burnt flesh on the winds, far beyond the point of exhaustion, his mind was slow and lethargic as he stared aimlessly at the increasingly frantic and frenzied mob at the gates. Snapping out of his haze at the retching of a young Knight-Corporal to his left, his gaze following the eyes of the other knights as they recoiled further in horror at the sight before them. In their unbending determination to enter the Gallows, over a dozen of the men and women had joined the dead figure who lay at the foot of the gate, their bodies crushed against the bars by the weight and strength of the crowd behind them. Killed in their recklessness to reach safety.
The sound of the final arrivals horn cut through the roar of the civilians loud and clear, signalling that the Knight-Captain's squadron was the last unit to make it back inside the Gallows. He closed his eyes and fought back the sting of tears as the grief crashed down on him, over eight hundred of his remaining knights had crossed the harbour just after midnight, the moon high above casting the docks in a vivid argent light as they moved to smash the Qunari advance.
The casualty list would be enormous, he knew in his heart that at the most a quarter had returned, the rest lay dead or dying on marble paved streets and steps, smoking craters and collapsed buildings inside Hightown, and maybe a small number lay trapped in the rat-run that was the remnants of Lowtown as it lay burning in the night. That combined with the initial losses when the mages rebelled and the chapter sundered under Meredith's order, meant they had been reduced from some two and half thousand to maybe four hundred, including the dozens that lay in the infirmary, most of which would not survive another night.
Around him he could feel the despondency emanating from the Templars behind him, all silent as they remained fixed in place, too tired, lost or shocked to move. He finally caught sight of a young petite sister on the trail of Knight Lieutenant Venton who were both bearing towards him quickly, their steps rushed and faces pulled into despair
"Venton." He croaked, clearing his throat as best he could by hacking up the combination of ash and mucus in his throat and spitting it on the bloodied flagstone beneath his feet. "What's the situation?"
"Worse than we feared." Cullen hung his head low, absorbing his colleagues words with a sharp breath of anguish.
"Hawke?" He asked, hoping that the hellish apostate still lived as they would need her in the coming days.
"With the Prince, both still unconscious. The healers say she will make a full recovery but it will be at least a couple days before she will be up and moving, Brother Sebastian however..." He gestured him to go on, wanting to hear everything no matter how bad things were. "They are unsure if he will ever wake up, the swelling in his skull is severe."
"Casualties?" He muttered in question, trying not to dwell on Vael's probable coma.
"Still counting, we have maybe three hundred able bodied knights left to police the entire fortress."
"Makers breath, and we have no idea how many civilians we have with us?" Venton shrugged aimlessly, forcing himself to not look at the portcullis that was now packed with screeching civilians.
"Seneschal Bran is gathering all able bodied scribes to take a head count, until then..." He trailed off, mind lost in thought.
"Very well, gather the officers in the Templar hall. I will brief them on what I can." Venton snapped of a tired halfhearted salute, striding away as the timid sister stepped forward despite Cullen's huff of irritation.
"Ser Cullen?" She inquired quietly, face pale and streaked with tears.
"Yes sister?"
"Grand Cleric Elthina has asked for you at your first convenient moment. She wishes to discuss security arrangements with you as soon as possible." Cullen nodded sharply, dismissing her with a small agreement before turning back to his men.
"Ser, our orders?" He glanced to the gate, feeling numb at the decision he had been forced to make. They barely had enough troops to secure the Gallows, let alone police the fortress, not too mention the food reserves, it was simply impossible for them take in any more survivors.
"Seal the gates, no one in or out." He ordered, ignoring the slack jaws and incredulous expressions of his Templars.
"But ser, the commoners…. They will be…." He ignored the stammering young knight for a moment, glancing to Thrask.
"Thrask, gather at least a dozen auxiliary archers, I want them manning the gates and ready to fire." The man visibly stiffened at the order.
"Knight-Captain." He whispered in disbelief, eyes wide as he glanced tot he crowd. "Surely?"
"Hard decisions have to be made, we don't have the supplies to take in anymore, and they leave us vulnerable if we can't fully secure the Gallows." Thrask swallowed slowly, locked in a stare with Cullen as he remained still.
"Now Thrask." He stressed in annoyance.
"Yes ser." The older Knight-Lieutenant twisted away with a grimace, hands clenched tightly as he marched towards the main hall.
"Corporal." He fixed a steely gaze on the man, leaning forward with a silent snarl. "You have your orders, anyone outside the fortress it to return to their boats immediately, and then you will perform a full lockdown."
The knight gathered his compatriots quickly, throwing a last anxious glance to his Knight-Captain before addressing the crowd. Cullen could only remain transfixed as the civilians cried out in defiance, pleading for help, something he was incapable of providing any longer.
He glanced to the skyline, mouth dry and throat hoarse as his mind seemed to conjure up images of the Ferelden Circle. The similar situation, the familiar despondency.
Kirkwall had fallen, and the Qunari were likely to kill them all, and just like Kinloch, he felt powerless to stop them.