A Templar's Faith, A Mage's Resolve
Chapter 1
Childish Games, and Moonlit Prayers
A/N:Ive had most of this written out for a while. But it'll be good to finally get it out. Unfortunately I've lost the system I used to play DA:I on, and as much as I'm praying for a switch port, it probably ain't gonna happen. Reviews are love!
"Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me, but my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me." He knelt in the chapel, long since the fading of the sun, the moon shining through the stained glass windows. "In the long hours of the night when hope has abandoned me, i will see the stars and know your light remains." He always thought that this was the best time to say the chant, alone with the maker when the rest of the world slumbered. A time where he could be at peace with his maker.
"I have heard the sound, a song in the stillness, the echo of Your voice, calling creation to wake from its slumber. How can we know You? In the turning of the seasons, in life and death, in the empty space where our hearts hunger for a forgotten face?"
"What is that?" Asked a sharp voice in the silence. "The thing that you're saying?"
In true Templar fashion, the young man ignored the voice, the chant of light coming only stronger to his lips. "You have walked beside me, down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh. You have stood with me when all others have forsaken me. I have faced armies with You as my shield, and though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing can break me except Your absence. When I have lost all else, when my eyes fail me and the taste of blood fills my mouth, then in the pounding of my heart I hear the glory of creation -"
"It's very pretty. I hear the other templars say it too. None quite as dedicated as you I think." The young Templar raised his head from the pew in front of him, only shooting a glare at the girl that sat only a few feet away. He heaved a heavy sigh as she turned away.
"You have grieved as I have. You, who made worlds out of nothing. We are alike in sorrow, sculptor and clay, comforting each other in our art. Do not grieve for me, Maker of All. Though all others may forget You, your name is etched into my every step. I will not forsake You, even if I forget myself." Again in the silence he managed the words, words that have been carved into his mind with a chisel and hammer. Words that gave him strength to face another day. "Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder."
"Who is this maker you're talking to? I don't see anyone here." Her voice ripped through his prayers again like a knife through a stick of butter on a midsummer day. He heaved another sign, clearly more frustrated by every passing moment.
"You're disturbing my prayers, Mage." He hissed, his golden eyes locking with the pair of silver ones at the end of the pew. The dark haired mage gave a little gasp, covering her mouth with her hands.
"Sorry!" The whisper barely reached his ears, but it would do to pacify his temper for the moment. He turned away from the girl, bowing his head once more. "Who knows me as You do? You have been there since before my first breath. You have seen me when no other would recognize my face. You composed the cadence of my heart."
Why was this mage in the chapel anyways? What business did she have in this holy place? Was she not just one of them? The gateways to demons ready to enter the world through a weak mage? He couldn't understand.
"Through blinding mist, I climb a sheer cliff, the summit shrouded in fog, the base endlessly far beneath my feet, The Maker is the rock to which I cling. I cannot see the path. Perhaps there is only abyss. Trembling, I step forward, in darkness enveloped."
Silence. Perhaps the girl had gone. It would be best if she had. He had no reason to look, but curiosity plagued him. He turned, his gaze falling onto the mage whose dark curls now covered her face as she assumed the position of bowing he held previously. This mage, this creature, this criminal against the maker's will that he believed to be a great evil, was bowing before the statue of Andraste. Did mages even believe in the maker? What did they believe? Did they believe in the old gods as the maleficar of the chant?
"Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost. I am not alone. Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see The Light is here. Draw your last breath, my friends. Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, and be Forgiven." He fell silent again, letting his head stay down for a few extra moments before standing, his armor clanking against itself as he stood, his eyes drifting again to the mage that knelt a few feet away, still deep in her thoughts until the young man took a step towards the doors of the chapel. Her head popped up and she frowned.
"Is that it?" She asked,"You're done already?" She looked purely disappointed when he turned to face her, noticing for the first time the light green, yet striking tattoos across her pale face, surrounding her silver eyes that stared him down as if she were hanging off his every word. He hasn't missed the bloodshot redness that filled her orbs, the puffy skin surrounding them as if she had spent a great deal of time weeping. A pang of guilt echoed through him.
"Why do you ask so many questions, mage?" He asked rather bluntly. It was a rare occurrence for the mages to approach any of the templars, let alone attempt to have what seemed to be a conversation with one.
"How is one to learn without inquiry?" She asked, crossing her arms and giving the young Templar a defiant stare. For a moment he felt a swell of anger at the look on her face, but questions were surely no harm, right?
"I am done for the night." He stated before turning to the door once more.
"Who were you speaking to?" He couldn't help the hiss of annoyance that escaped him.
"The maker."
"But there isn't anyone here."
"He is always here, always watching, guiding, protecting." Said Cullen, turning to face her once more.
"But how do you know? I don't see anyone, I don't understand." He stared, once again bewildered by this young mage's curiosity. He paused, unsure of the right answer to give her before taking a deep breath.
"Because I have faith. I believe in my maker, and thus I know that he is here, even though I cannot see him." She opened her mouth slightly, perhaps to ask another question in her series of inquiries, but it seemed his answer needed some pondering. He took this as his moment to leave, leaving the young woman on her own in the candlelit chapel.
*
It had been a long day, far longer than he was prepared to deal with, but this was the life he had chosen. A failed harrowing was never good, but this time, a demon had completely taken hold of the young mage's body. His blood took forever to clean from the Templar's trembling hands. He scolded himself, over and over reminding himself that this is what he was trained for, but it made no difference. A human being was still dead because of his sword. He hoped that over time this would become easier, but part of him knew that it should never be a simple task to take a life that the maker had created, even a mage. He made his way into the chapel once more, taking his regular spot in the pews, kneeling down and shutting his eyes.
"And there I saw the black city, it's towers forever stained, it's gates forever shut. I knew then, and crossed my heart with shame. Let my blade pass through my flesh, let my blood touch the ground, let my cries touch their hearts, let mine be the last sacrifice. Those who appose thee shall know the wrath of heaven, fields and forests shall burn, the seas shall rise and devour them, the winds shall tear their nation from the face of the earth. Lightning shall reign down from the sky, shall they cry out to their false gods and find silence." It was in the asmall silence, a pause between verses that he heard the rustling of clothing, the knock of boots on the stone floor. He did not look up from his prayer.
"Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls, its from these water that life begins anew. Come to me child, and I shall embrace you. In my arms lies eternity. Blessed are they, who stand before the corrupt and the wicked, and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow, in their blood, the maker's will is written." The shuffling grew closer, the person sliding onto his pew, he could hear the creak of their weight on the other end. With an empty chapel, why would they sit so near?
"The first of the maker's children watched from across the veil and grew jealous for they could not feel, could not touch. In the blackest envy, were the demons born." Curiosity came to be too much, he glanced up at the person, and was thoroughly surprised to find, not three feet away a mass of ebony curls shadowing a thin body cloaked in mages robes, her head bowed low - the mage from the night before. He was stunned into silence until she looked up, her bright eyes catching his for just a moment before she pressed a thin finger to her lips; a promise of silence. He could not find his words.
"I swear, I won't interrupt. I just want to listen." She said after a moment of silent staring. The Templar sucked in a deep breath and bowed his head once more, the woman, judging by the sound, doing just the same.
"... Rose over valarian fields, loudly proclaiming, those who have been slaves, were now free. The old gods will call to you, from their ancient prisons they will sing. Dragons, with wicked eyes and wicked hearts, with blackened wings..." He glanced up as he spoke, the mage hadn't moved, her face buried in her folded hands, mane of rings shielding her face from his prying eyes. He knew he shouldn't stare, but he could not tear his eyes away. He hadn't thought about the curious mage once he awoke, his day filled with many tasks that required his undivided attention, but now, he was filled with questions of his own. After a few moments of staring at the mass of curls, the young Templar cleared his throat. The mage popped her head up, turning to face him once more.
"I didn't mean - I just wanted to listen is all, I mean- if you - should I go?" She rambled on, her cheeks beginning to redden.
"You haven't interrupted, well - you have but -" he sighed, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. "Why are you here?" He asked, perhaps the simplest of questions. In response she raised a hand a wisp of snow blooming from her palm and falling onto the pew beside her. He couldn't help the huff of breath that escaped him, an echo of a laugh at her deadpan response. "I meant here - in the chapel."
"Oh. I already told you." She said, folding her hands on her lap. She had.
"Right, but why?"
"To learn, remember? Do you like asking the same questions over and over? How do you expect to learn?" The Templar's mouth hung open for a moment before it snapped shut, the annoyed stare saying more than words could express. A grin spread across the mage's face, a small giggle escaping her. His glare faltered, he felt a twitch on the corner of his lips. What a cheeky little thing.
"I learn by doing." He stated bluntly, causing the girl to nod, folding her arms.
"Your turn." She said, turning to face him, crossing her legs in front of her, she raised a hand to push her locks behind her ears, that for the first time, the Templar noticed were clearly not human. He snorted. Only the long elf ears she bore could hold back that bush of hair.
"What do you mean, your turn?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow in her direction.
"First off, that one doesn't count." She said pressing her lips into a hard line. His confused look deepened. "A question. I asked one, now it's your turn."
"Is this some kind of game?" He asked, his eyes narrowing at the woman before him.
"It could be. Have you anything better to do?" Once again he opened his mouth and shut it, leaning back against the hard wooden seat. There was a surprising amount of truth to her words.
"I suppose you're right. And I think that makes it my turn." He fell silent, staring up at the statue of Andraste, her bowl of fire lighting up the room. A question. But what to ask? Hn. Perhaps the easiest of them all. He glanced over at her. "Your name."
"What?"
"Your name, what is it?" The mage smiled, straightening up.
"My name, is Maev Lavellan. And what, pray tell should I call you, Ser Templar?"
"Cullen. Cullen Rutherford." The two fell silent for a moment, but only just.
"Is it my turn or yours?" Asked the mage, earning a smirk from Cullen as he mulled over his thoughts searching for a question.
"I believe it is mine."
