The lands of Southern Thedas are gripped in chaos as fighting between rebel Mages and the knights of the Templar Order threaten to erupt into full-blown war. With the Kingdom of Ferelden still recovering from the effects of the Fifth Blight, and the Empire of Orlais ravaged by civil war between the forces of Empress Celene and Grand-Duc Gaspard, there is no civil power with the strength or will to resolve the situation. In a final attempt to broker a peace-deal, Her Holiness Divine Justinia V, head of the Andrastian Chantry, calls a conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes; the holiest shrine in all of Thedas.
The leaders of the Templar Order and the Mage Rebellion gather, along with the Grand Clerics of the Chantry, to seek a solution to the crisis; but a colossal explosion destroys the temple without warning, killing thousands including the Divine herself and tearing a great Breach in the veil between this world and the Fade; the domain of spirits and demons. As a result of this weakening in the Veil, Rifts appear across Southern Thedas allowing demons to spill through, afflicting men, dwarves and elves alike.
Only one person survives the explosion, Marcus Trevelyan, a young Mage of noble birth; his left hand scarred with a glowing green mark that seems to have the power to close the Rifts and might just be able to heal the Breach in the sky that threatens to consume the whole world.
Saved from the disaster by a mysterious woman, whom many believe to have been Andraste Herself, Marcus is called upon by the Divine's closest advisors to aid them in closing the breach and restoring peace; but both the young Mage and his companions have plenty of private demons to fight as well.
This is my first experiment with a DA: I fanfic; using the background evolved for my current playthrough character. Angst and Hurt/Comfort with a hint at potential Cullen/Male Inquisitor. At the moment this is a one shot but may become first in a series depending on the response.
***Note for those unfamiliar with the fauna of Southern Thedas***
Mabari – a breed of large war-dog found in the Kingdom of Ferelden and appearing frequently in that nation's heraldry
Nug – a small pink hairless beast resembling a cross between a rabbit and a piglet with disturbingly hand-like paws, makes an irritating squeaking sound. Found everywhere and appearing in no heraldry whatsoever
****TRIGGER ALERT****
Referenced torture, strong emotions. Rated M for mature content
****MILD POTENTIAL SPOILER WARNING****
The story is set at an undefined point during the early part of the game, before any significant major plot choices are made. There are brief references to a couple of minor side quests and Cullen's struggle against addiction but no major events are referenced.
****Disclaimer****
Dragon Age: Inquisition is copyright to EA Games and I own nothing to do with it (not even that sweet, adorkable, stammering Fereldan cinnamon-roll Cullen 'Maker's Breath!' Rutherford, *sigh*). Characters and situations are used solely for non-commercial entertainment purposes.
Please review and comment, constructive feedback is always welcomed.
"You've spent a lot of time in the field with the Herald, what's he really like?"
Commander Cullen noted the slight arching of Cassandra's eyebrow at the tremor in his hand as he poured their wine.
"It's all right, I'm just tired." The Commander promised her "I'd tell you if it was anything more."
Cassandra gave a slightly disbelieving grunt as she accepted the cup Cullen offered. This nightly conversation over a mug of wine wasn't a part of their 'Agreement' but it did provide a chance for the two of them to catch up on private business, and was as close as either of them got to relaxing.
"The Herald is infuriating" she stated categorically "He's arrogant, opinionated, stubborn, makes a joke of everything; and yet…"
When battle came the brawny young redhead would leap into the heart of it, wielding his Mage's Staff more like a Templar's Greatsword. He'd listen to, and act on, the concerns of the highest and lowest with equal diligence; she'd seen him turn out of his way and fight through demons and bandits to keep a promise to honour the shrine of old Elf's wife, charm grumpy old horse-masters and headstrong young lords into serving the needs of the Inquisition; winning the loyalty of coastal bandits, religious zealots and Orlesian traders with an easy, good humoured, grace.
It didn't seem like a show or an affectation; under Marcus Trevelyan's irritatingly cheerful, cocky, exterior was a warrior's soul and a great, warm, wounded, heart that people around him responded to. Much as she hated to admit it, Cassandra was beginning to admire the man. The refugees who gathered under the Inquisition's protection at Redcliffe Crossroads greeted his arrival with unfeigned love 'Where the Herald walks, Justice follows'. These were hard-bitten farmers, not easily won over by outsiders, much less a Mage from the Free Marches; and quick to detect falsehood.
"…He's a walking contradiction, but could we expect anything else from Andraste's Herald? If he were some knot of Chantry platitudes I would be suspicious; if only he wasn't such an incorrigible flirt!"
"You've noticed that as well?" Cullen laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. Cassandra's eyes widened
"Maker! He didn't?" she exclaimed, more amused than shocked. She would have liked to have seen Cullen's reaction to that.
The Commander blushed slightly
"Actually… I think he was expressing a more serious… 'interest' than just mere flirtation. It was a bit… awkward"
Cassandra looked at him intently
"I hope you let him down gently. I think beneath all his bluster he is very lonely, maybe he is the way he is because of that; I believe he has lost many people close to him over the past year. Did you know his sister and nephew died at Kirkwall?"
Cullen shook his head, astonished into silence. The Herald had asked him, and Varric, a number of questions about what happened in Kirkwall but he had assumed it to be mere curiosity. He should not have answered so flippantly. No wonder the Herald showed so little enthusiasm for the Mage Rebellion. The noble families of the Free Marches were all related to one degree or another. Many in Ostwick must have lost kin during those terrible days.
"She was married to the son of Lord Redbank. The family's mansion stood close to the Chantry and took the full force of the explosion. No-one in the house survived." She paused "Do not mention this to him, I think he only told me because I had spoken about Antony."
Cullen nodded slightly, taking a mouthful of wine. The Herald must have won some degree of trust from the taciturn Seeker for her to speak about her brother's murder. Normally this was a taboo subject, still too painful for her to think about.
"I was as tactful as I could be" Cullen said, still half lost in thought "I said I could offer nothing more than friendship. He appeared to accept that with some… disappointment"
The Commander recalled the crestfallen look on the young man's face, and tried to remember if anything had been said that might give the Herald cause to believe more might be expected. It was not impossible he had responded to some piece of banter in a way that had been misinterpreted.
"That is a shame." Cassandra sighed, staring down into her cup
"For him or for me?" Cullen glared across at her "Because if you're going to join Josephine in becoming matchmaker, I would rather you did not start with Marcus Trevelyan!"
Cassandra set down her mug and gave him a rare smile. Flustering Commander Cullen was a game that she, Josephine and Leliana enjoyed in equal measure. It was so easy to do and the results always mildly amusing
"You were the one who asked my opinion of the Herald" she reminded him "And now, if you will excuse me, tomorrow is going to be another long day."
Once Cassandra left, Cullen drained the last of his own wine and sat down on the bed and pulled off his boots. He had been curious, that was all. His own duties kept him in or near Haven most of the time, while Cassandra frequently accompanied the Herald on forays into the Hinterlands or the Storm Coast. Cullen had only ever really spoken to him on Inquisition business, at Council meetings, or when he had stopped off at the training grounds. It was natural to be interested in the man who was becoming their de-facto leader
Those visits to the training grounds had become less frequent since their last encounter and, if he was honest, Cullen missed them; the same way he missed his evening mug of wine with Cassandra when she was away. They were little routines that helped distract from the struggles of Lyrium withdrawal, but he could hardly go up to him and say, 'Could you please come and start flirting with me again?' Even the idea of it seemed stupid and inappropriate. If he were truly desperate he could ask Josephine, no doubt the Lady Ambassador would be able advise on the exact protocol for such situations.
He sighed and lit a candle in front of the image of Andraste, turning his mind to the Chant of Light. The familiar, comforting words from the Canticle of Trials rose to his lips
"Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me… You have stood with me, when all others have forsaken me… …Though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing can break me except Your absence… When the taste of blood fills my mouth then, in the pounding of my heart, I hear the glory of Creation…"
The candle burned late into the night.
###
The air was crisp and sharp against Cullen's skin as he walked through the woods towards his favourite training spot. He'd discovered the clearing by chance shortly after they settled at Haven; a broad, flat space just above the town that no-one else appeared to know about. Perfect for an hour's privacy and some serious training in the grey, pre-dawn, light before the business of the day began. Clad only in a pair of long wool-knit under-drawers, with his sword strapped to his back, the fresh snow crunched pleasantly under his bare feet. Templars trained themselves to handle conditions of heat and cold with equanimity; you never knew where in Southern Thedas you might be sent to serve.
He growled quietly, seeing other footprints in the snow and hearing noises from the clearing ahead. Subordinates soon learned that noise from the commander signalled a coming storm, and Maker help the poor fool who failed to take shelter. Cullen moved forward quietly, ready to give the unwitting invader of his sanctuary a surprise they would never forget.
He paused on the edge of the clearing, angry shout frozen in his throat, instantly recognising the strongly built young man with close cropped red hair, like him clad only in wool-knit drawers; skin glowing with the heat of exercise and the familiar green flash coming from the palm of his hand.
Cassandra had been right in what she said; the Herald wielded a staff like a true weapon. Most Battle-mages lurked at the edge of a conflict, hurling their spells from a safe distance while using their staff as little more than a focus. Lord Trevelyan moved like a born fighter, the wooden training-staff an extension of his arm; spinning and curving as he turned and twisted with fluid, powerful, gestures. Cullen couldn't help but admire the firm centring of the young mage's stance and the elegant confidence of his movements. Even without his magic, a man who wielded a staff like that would be a formidable opponent in a fight.
Marcus spun the training-staff in his hand with a deft flick of his wrist and slammed the butt down hard with an exuberant 'Ha!', imagining the lightning arcing from its tip. Training with a real staff would be more fun, but risked attracting unwelcome attention; besides, he didn't want to have to explain a forest fire to the others. As he swung the staff back round into a beginning stance he caught sight of Commander Cullen watching him from the edge of the clearing.
"Commander, good morning to you!" The edges of his neatly curled moustache twitched upwards in a grin as he greeted the older man "Did Varric tell you about this spot as well?"
"Varric?" Cullen looked at him questioningly "He told you about this place?"
"Yes, he said if I wanted somewhere to train privately then this was an ideal…" He paused in the act of reaching for the towel hanging from a nearby tree-branch; closing his eyes and sighing softly as the truth dawned on him "You train here every morning, don't you?"
"Most mornings" Cullen admitted, sensing one or both of them were victims of one of the dwarf's pranks. Marcus nodded ruefully
"This must be payback for my comment about 'Hard in Hightown' being found in latrines across Thedas" He pulled down the towel and picked up his training-staff. "My apologies, I'll leave you to your routine."
"No!" It came out more forcefully than Cullen had intended and his hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing nervously as he stared past Marcus at the distant peaks "I mean… There's room enough here for the two of us to train, if you want. You train like a Templar…"
Marcus laughed slightly, Cullen's awkward shyness in personal interactions was an odd and endearing quality in a man otherwise confident and ferocious. It had been embarrassing to find that the Commander wasn't interested in becoming 'closer', he must have misread the signals, but it would be nice to spend more time with him again. Marcus was aware he'd been avoiding Cullen since that conversation and felt bad about it. The man had offered friendship and the young Mage suspected he had a great need of it. There was a pain in the Commander's eyes he recognized, and a sense of some inner struggle he was barely in control of.
"I was meant to be a Templar" he confessed, enjoying Cullen's look of surprise "My magic manifested late, when I was 15, already 6 years into training…"
The Trevelyans had always been staunch supporters of the Chantry. It was inevitable that Marcus, as the youngest son, would be gifted to the Templars. At the age of 9 the boy had been given into the care of Ostwick's Knight Commander to begin his training. He thought it was the finest thing in the world; to become one of an elite order, fighting demons and apostates, guarding Mages from the ignorant and foolish, defending the people against blood-magic and abomination. Then at the age of 15, the dreams began…
"…I thought I had sinned and this was a punishment from the Maker, I begged Andraste every night to take it away; pleaded with the Knight Commander to let me continue training. My father even asked the Grand Cleric to request a Dispensation from Her Holiness…"
The Knight Commander was sympathetic, sad to lose such a dedicated and diligent young acolyte, and Grand Cleric Sophronia did her utmost to secure a Dispensation, but the law was inflexible; as a Mage, Marcus's place was within the confines of the Circle of Magi and he passed from the custody of Knight Commander Durward into the hands of Senior Enchanter Lydia. He was the youngest apprentice in the Circle, and looked at with suspicion for his Templar beginnings.
"My first couple of years were difficult ones. I wasn't one thing or another, and nobody knew quite how to handle me. I felt like a Mabari sent to live with Nugs and expected to behave like them; Lydia saw how I was being treated and took me under her personal care. It became a bit better after that; she helped me learn that my Magic wasn't a curse and that it didn't have to turn me into some pale, soft, bookworm, but I still thought I was doomed to live in dusty shadows for the rest of my life."
Cullen's gaze unconsciously travelled over the younger man's broad shoulders and powerful arms. 'Pale, soft, bookworm' wasn't the first phrase that came to mind when you looked at Marcus Trevelyan. He also couldn't avoid noticing the scars that criss-crossed the muscular torso. Most of them pink and only recently healed, like the one on his cheek and above his eye. There was one that looked like a red-hot sword-blade had been pressed against his side and Cullen shuddered. If Marcus spotted this he didn't comment.
"Then Aidhan was posted to the Circle and everything changed…"
The new Knight-Recruit, little less than a year older than Marcus and fresh from his Vigil, had been transferred from the Markham Circle at the request of the Knight-Commander; to make up for a shortage in the ranks. Tall and athletic, with black hair and eyes the dark-green of serpentstone, he and the young Mage rapidly became firm friends; despite the strictures against fraternisation.
"We were the youngest there, and I had my Templar background so it wasn't that unusual. Lydia and Durward turned a blind eye. We started training together in secret; he reminded me of much I was forgetting, that any weapon is only as good as the hand and will that wield it. I learned how to use a staff the way knight does his sword, as an extension of myself. He taught me how to make my body, as well as my mind, a part of magic…"
Marcus paused and sighed deeply; aware of Cullen's intense scrutiny he turned to look at him, a deep sadness shadowing his normally bright blue eyes.
"Yes, we became lovers. The intimacy of our bond… it just seemed natural, inevitable. The first time we kissed I thought the sky would fall on our heads but… I'm sorry, does this make you uncomfortable?"
Cullen shook his head emphatically
"No, I… You loved him very much?"
Marcus nodded, swallowing hard as his throat tightened at the memory.
"Aidhan was closer than a brother to me, we were like two halves of a single soul. He showed me that my life, even as a Mage, didn't have to be bound within the limits of a Circle. I had heard about the Knights-Enchanter; warrior-mages in the personal service of the Divine who were free of such constraints. I vowed I would become one; that one day the two of us would fight side by side as Brothers in Faith and Arms. We did, when the Circles fell…"
"Herald, I…" Cullen began, he could see the distress in the other man's face and felt the need to give him a chance back off from a subject clearly the source of great grief and pain
Marcus groaned, weary of constantly hearing the title and the burden it placed on him.
"Cullen, please, just for once can it be 'Marcus'? I'm beginning to forget what my own name sounds like."
Cullen felt an ache in his heart at the plea in the young man's voice. He needed a friend right now, not a follower or adviser, and perhaps this was a story he needed to tell.
"Of course, I'm sorry… Marcus, what happened to him?"
The vote of the Circles to declare independence from the Chantry split the Ostwick Circle in two. Senior Enchanter Lydia and Knight Commander Durward tried to uphold reason, to convince the rebel Mages to back down and accept the authority of the Divine but the mood for compromise was gone and violence erupted. Lydia and Durward were the first to be killed and, with their deaths, chaos ensued. First Enchanter Raymon and a few of the surviving loyalists managed to escape to the sanctuary of a nearby Chantry and the protection of Grand Cleric Sophronia. Marcus and Aidhan fought side by side to protect their retreat from rogue Templars and rebel Mages alike, and the two young men were captured…
"You've seen how ruthless the rogue Templars are to those they suspect of being Mage sympathisers? Imagine how they handled one of their own who was bedding a Mage, and a male one at that…?"
He was forced to watch while Aidhan was tortured by his former comrades, with all the inventive malice they could devise. All Marcus had to do was say a few names and it stopped, they said. Name the sympathisers among the nobles, the clergy and the merchants. It would had been so easy; a few of his father's political enemies, some dislikeable clerics, a tradesman who sold short weight and they promised the pain would stop. Marcus was no fool or simpleton. These men wouldn't let him or Aidhan live, wouldn't stop what they were doing; they were enjoying it too much. This was just part of their game, trying to make him break in front of his lover.
"I'm a Trevelyan, we don't break easily. Aidhan just kept saying to me, for as long as he could, 'Be strong, Marc, be strong.' So, I stayed strong; I said nothing and they kept going. Once he was dead they started on me."
"Maker's Breath!" Cullen could hardly breathe, his eyes clenched shut, memories crowding in on him; the screams of his dying comrades, the pain of the tortures inflicted on him. To see the one you loved suffering in front of your eyes, knowing you were helpless to save them and your turn would come next…
He reached out blindly, feeling Marcus grip his hand and hold it tightly.
"I knew I was going to die, I just had to stay strong; like Aidhan had urged. They made me scream until my throat was raw, but I named no names. They had ways of keeping me conscious but finally it became too much even for those and I passed out. The next thing I remembered was a woman's voice. I thought I was dead and it was Andraste; but it was my mother…"
Bann Lewin Trevelyan and Grand Cleric Sophronia persuaded the Teryn and the other Banns to intervene in the fighting; warning that Ostwick risked becoming another Kirkwall unless the Templars were brought to heel. Near to death; Marcus had been taken in secret to the family's Keep, to recover from his wounds. He touched the silver figure of Andraste that hung around his neck.
"This belonged to Aidhan. My mother said they found his body and gave it proper cremation; she thought I would want to have it." His grip on Cullen's hand tightened slightly "I never told her what he and I were to each other, but mothers have a way of guessing these things."
It was while he regained his health and strength that a letter came to him from the Grand Cleric. Divine Justinia had persuaded the Mages and Templars to attend a Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, high in the Frostback Mountains between Orlais and Ferelden; Neutral ground where they might seek an end to the violence and bring much-needed peace. Sophronia, a wise and moderate woman, revered throughout the Free Marches, wanted Marcus to accompany her; to show that bitterness and suspicion were not inevitable… If one Mage and one Templar can be friends and brothers, fighting for the good of all; then why not more? You have suffered much and terribly, my dear child, and perhaps here is a chance to give that suffering some meaning; to make your pain serve a noble cause…
"So, I accompanied the Grand Cleric and the First Enchanter to the Conclave" Marcus gave a resigned shrug "You know the rest…"
"Maker's Tears! Marcus, I… I'm so sorry…" Cullen stammered, his own experiences at Ferelden's Circle Tower had warped him for a decade, poisoning his mind with a bitter hatred that he had only begun to shake off when Cassandra offered him a fresh start with the Inquisition. The man beside him had suffered in a similar way but clung on to a hope Cullen still fought to rediscover "How… how can you endure this and not…?"
"I'm angry, Cullen, more than I know how to express. I've lost family, friends, mentors, my lover; wise and noble souls slaughtered by cruel and petty thugs, but I must be more, be better, than the men who killed them. I can't let them make me monstrous, otherwise it's all meaningless. I have to be strong…" The grief and pain churning in his guts became too much and his shoulders shook with a great heaving sob "I owe it to Aidhan…"
Tentatively at first, but with the growing confidence of compassion, Cullen put his arm around Marcus and held him close until the younger man finally sat back up, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand and attempting a smile
"I… I don't normally embarrass myself like this, but it's the first time I've been able to speak about what happened to anyone." He glanced up at the sun beginning to creep over the mountains In the valley below them, the Chantry Bell began to ring "I'm afraid I've wasted your training time."
Cullen grasped his hand firmly
"This has not been a waste of time, Marcus, for either of us. If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me; and if you wish to train together I am always here at First Light…"
"Thank you, Cullen, I think I very well might" Marcus smiled at him with affectionate gratitude and then grinned, the mischievous glint reappearing in his eyes "We possibly ought to go back separately? The Herald and the Commander returning from the woods together in their under-drawers might have a few tongues wagging in the Singing Maiden tonight."
Cullen laughed, picking up his sword and slapping Marcus on the shoulder
"Let them! I can't wait to hear what Varric spins this into; I'm sure we'll have fought half a legion of Darkspawn in the altogether before he's finished with it!"
Marcus shook his head with a grin
"If there's not at least two Archdemons and a dragon I'll be very disappointed."