Upon reading the opening chapter to a story about Cullen by another fantastic author on this site, I was inspired to bring to life my own version of the templar. For now, this is a one shot, but if it calls to me again, I may expand upon this. Hope you enjoy…
How many years have passed since he last saw her face? And yet, the elf still haunted his dreams. Trapped in the demonic cage for days…weeks? She came to him night after night; luring him with the lilt in her voice, her timid smile. She even began to hiccup like she used to when she felt nervous around him. But it was never her. The demons had…entered his mind. Sought out the one temptation that he would succumb to. His fascination with the young mage had almost been his undoing. He was no longer sure how he could say no to her if she returned once more. And she did. She returned to him the very next night. But she was no longer an illusion. No longer a trick in his mind, conjured by the devil itself. She was real, standing before him while he languished in his cage.
Cullen had confessed his infatuation then. She never flinched, as though she knew all along. Had he been that obvious? He was lucky the Knight Commander had never noticed – or that if he did, he did not express concern. He never once faltered in his devotions, even when he was selected to be present at her Harrowing. He always suspected that was meant to test him more than her. He prayed to the Maker the night before that day. He prayed that she would not succumb to the temptations the demons would place in front of her. He prayed for her to wake with no passengers. But he did not pray for the strength to strike her down had she not met the challenge with success. He wanted to, but could not bring himself to pray to be the one to end her life if she failed. What would he have done if she failed? And he didn't kill her? His life as a templar would have ended abruptly, unable to fulfill his duty. But what then if he did? Could he have lived with himself, knowing he would have been the cause of destruction of such innocence? When it was all over, he returned to his quarters, removed his armour and fell on to his bed. He pulled the covers over his head and wept. Back then, he didn't know the reason for his tears. Was it for something that could never be? For something that should never be? He still had no answers.
Yet the night she returned, he began to understand that there could never be anything between them more than passing glances and whispers behind their backs. She had looked pained as she stood in front of him – cut off from him by Uldred's barrier. The recognition of her as reality nearly crushed him, and he was forced to push impure thoughts to the back of his mind. This was no longer the demon reaching its spiny fingers into his thoughts, and she deserved more than what he considered. But her words in defense of the mages stopped all thoughts for something between them. She would never back down from protecting her brethren. And he could never turn his back on his vows…his duty. Her words made his stomach wretch…that she wanted to save her fellow mages. That she would never side with him. She couldn't.
When the cage melted into nothingness, he knew Uldred had been destroyed. But was she safe? Would she exit the Harrowing Chamber? When she finally did come through the door, assisting the First Enchanter down the stairs, exhaustion covered her face. Her deep crimson hair which had been pulled back before entering the chamber was now hanging in her face, wet and tangled from the battle. Wynne, the Circle mage who had arrived with her relieved her of Irving at the bottom of the stairs and she staggered a little. The blond, heavily armoured man who was also in her party caught her before she fell. She looked up at him and smiled her shy smile, and it somehow had grown since he last saw it. A twinge of jealousy flickered within, as he noticed the man held her a little too long…a little too close. Was there something there? Something he could never have? He tried desperately to not stare in her direction, but feared it would be the last he would look upon her. And it was. She left the tower, with the promise of assistance from the mages, and never returned. And when the Archdemon lay slain on the roof of Fort Drakon, all voices rose up in honour of the Hero of Ferelden.
That was so many years ago, but he thought it as it were yesterday. Perhaps that was the reason that this new mage had felt so familiar to him. Hawke was her name. She was well known throughout the city for her many deeds of service, but few saw her for what she really was. Few knew of her arcane abilities. As a templar – nay, as Knight Captain of the Circle of Kirkwall – he was tasked with knowing the scent of a mage in his city. She carried a bladed staff, perhaps to throw of those with less training than he had received. But he saw through the ruse. Despite the devotion to his duty, he stayed his hand when it came to this woman. Partially because she was doing so much good for the city. Partially because she reminded him of the elf he had once wanted so badly to confess everything he thought to.
The first time he met Hawke in the outskirts of the city, he had been tracking down a possessed templar. She assisted without question, never once casting a spell to draw his attention. But he knew. Her fierce defense of the mages, and obvious dislike of the templars felt so much like that of the elf. Only a mage could speak such words to a templar – only this woman could speak such words to him. He held back from detaining her, and from admitting that he was aware of her true abilities. She looked grateful…hopeful even, but never as though she had gotten away with anything.
The woman now came to him as a friend…and a confidante. He spoke to her as an equal, and despite their feelings for their respective factions, their conversations were never heated. A sort of understanding had been reached between them, an unspoken truce. He spoke to her of conviction and duty…she spoke to him of freedom and independence. She thought it odd that one with such dedication to his Order would allow her to roam without consequence, but there was something in his eyes when he spoke to her. A longing that she would never comprehend. She thought to ask him at times, but preferred to let sleeping mabari lie.
From his post in the Gallows, he would watch her. The red tinge of her hair always made his stomach flip at first sight…at least until he remembered that it was not the elf. It would never be the elf. He began to notice her with a certain companion. He assumed it was the healer that was rumoured to be in Darktown. She traveled with him everywhere. It was more than obvious that something existed between the two. The smile she smiled at him…it reminded Cullen of the smile the elf gave to her companion that night at the bottom of the stairs to the Harrowing Chamber. He sighed. He longed for something he could never have.
This was the Maker's punishment for his impure thoughts of the elf in the Circle Tower. He would be forced to live out his days in Kirkwall, at arm's length from the one woman who would never allow him to forget about what he could not have. Perhaps one day he would no longer allow her to roam free in the city after all…but today was not that day. Today, she would meander through the Gallows square, fingertips brushing the hand of her healer gently. And Cullen would close his eyes and imagine the halls of the Kinloch Hold. The days before her Harrowing. The days when duty was easy. When faith was untested. Before his thoughts were tainted by the demons. Before he no longer believed in love.