1.
Knight Commander Greagoir rubbed his tired eyes roughly with the back of his battle weathered hand. The Hero of Ferelden had redeemed the circle, saving the unnecessary slaughter of the mages under his care. His relief had been palpable when he had seen First Enchanter Irving emerge from the bloodied halls, pronouncing that Uldred and his evil ways had been vanquished. He had happily allowed Irving and the circle mages assist the heroic grey warden and her companions to defeat the archdemon, forcing the darkspawn back to the Deep Roads. Just as he thought the troubles were over the grey warden had asked for her boon from their new King. Her being a mage herself, she had asked for the one thing she had craved before being set free, freedom for the mages. No more being controlled by the Chantry, no more being watched over by Templars. Mages all over Thedas had rejoiced, seeing this as the first step to their chains being removed.
The reaction from the Templars had been mixed. Some had privately agreed with the decision, not seeing the mages as the threat they were portrayed as. Others had been frustrated by the King's apparent naivety, whispers abounded that he was soft on mages due to his affair with the Hero. Others had been outraged, treasonous mutterings and threats of violence echoed through the now mostly empty circle walls. But, there was one young Templar who had reacted astoundingly. With the torture and murder of his comrades fresh in his mind and heart he had set off on a killing spree. Murdering anyone he suspected of having the curse of magic. His broken mind believing that he was saving the world from an evil they had no understanding of. No-one but him could perceive the depravity of the type of people they were dealing with.
Greagoir sighed loudly, it was his task to bring the rogue Templar in and deal with him. He sent out patrols to follow up on any lead he could get his hands on. It didn't take long to locate Cullen. He had cut a bloody trail through Ferelden, leaving the Templars who tracked him the unenviable task of cleaning up his massacre. The men had heard of the unholy slaughter of a young mage in the village of Mantor. A tiny village that most people didn't even know existed. They were still reeling from the losses of the Darkspawn incursion and now had to deal with the loss of one of their most beloved youngsters.
The Templars tracked him to where he was hiding, swords drawn ready to strike down the man who had forced them to see things that they would never have imagined in their worst nightmares. One of the men shivered violently as he remembered the young man, cut from crotch to throat, his insides resting on the floor next to him. He became furious, remembering the grieving mother, who had lost the rest of her family to the 'spawn, sitting next to his cold rigid body, muttering and rocking, her mind gone.
They rounded the corner, shocked and uncertain by what they saw before them. A young man, his Templar regalia now stained with rusty brown splotches, holding his head in his hands sobbing wretchedly. He looked at his would be killers, his deep green eyes big and pleading. His voice came out dry and hoarse. "Kill me! If there is any love for the Maker in you, kill me now." His voice cracked and more gut wrenching sobs heaved out of him. The men looked at each other uncertain now of what to do. They had discussed their course of action before locating him and decided that his death was the only option. But seeing this broken, haunted man in front of them, their certainty wavered. Their leader spoke, after what seemed to be an interminable length of time. "We take him in." He said slowly, looking at the men under his command piercingly. They gave him no argument, gathering the broken man up, they took him back to the circle, relieved that their arduous quest was nearly at an end.
Greagoir had been shocked and dismayed at the appearance of one of his most promising recruits. His desperate pleas for a quick end had fallen on deaf ears and Cullen's hopes that Greagoir would put him out of his misery were unrequited. It had been the last killing that had finally snapped him out of his murderous vengeance. The terror in the young man's eyes had reminded him of the men that had fallen around him in Ferelden. The mother that had pleaded with him to spare her sons life, her words almost a reflection of the ones he had uttered to Uldred and his kind. Her pleas, just as his had been ignored, that was when he realised he had become more of a monster than the ones he was hunting. The realisation had made him see his actions with unshakeable clarity, reducing him to the sobbing, pitiful wreck that the men who had once been his friends had found.
He had begged Greagoir to put him to death, his request went unheeded. Instead he had been put in a holding cell, watched heavily to make sure he didn't take his own life. Greagoir needed some time to decide how to deal with him. At first Cullen had screamed at and goaded the men watching him, hoping that in their disgust they would finally lash out and give him the peace he craved. Instead their steadfast resolve to adhere to their orders won out and Cullen finally became silent using the time to reflect on his sins. He had fallen to his knees and asked the Maker to give him guidance.
Greagoir was doing much the same thing. During his meditations the answer had come to him. He would not have Cullen executed, that would be too easy. He needed to suffer for what he had done. There was no need for torture Cullen's own mind would provide that. The answer became clearer and clearer. He would send Cullen to Kirkwall, he would redeem himself in the eyes of the Maker, and Greagoir would be rid of the problem.