Of all of the people she had met since the explosion at the Conclave, Cassandra Pentaghast was the last person Evelyn would have expected to become her friend. Before she had even awoken, the Seeker had already judged her and deemed her guilty, and seemed eager to carry out whatever punishment she thought to fit her supposed crime.

Though she had yet to apologize for her previous actions - not that Cassandra seemed the apologetic sort in the first place - Evelyn could see the way she tried to atone for that every day since she had woken after stabilizing the Breach. In the battles to retake the Crossroads in the Hinterlands, Cassandra was the first to rush to her side when an enemy strayed too close without her knowledge. In the couple of weeks since she had met her, she had already saved her life half a dozen times - the time she had turned to find Cassandra bashing an assassin's face in with her shield right before he had sunk his blades into her back had been particularly memorable. Evelyn did her best to keep her safe as well - whenever Cassandra found herself surrounded by opponents, they would suddenly find themselves frozen to the ground, or a convenient lightning bolt would strike down several at once.

She would have dismissed it as nothing more than the bonds formed in battle, but it was more than that. More than once during the long trip through the Hinterlands, the Seeker had approached her warily. At first, Evelyn had thought she still suspected her of creating the Breach, considering the cautious way she spoke to her. However, Cassandra rarely asked what she remembered of the Conclave anymore - at least, no more than anyone else would have. Instead, they were questions about her - what her family was like (she didn't speak to her parents, but still had occasional contact with her siblings), how old she had been when she had discovered her magic (thirteen - surprisingly old), if she had enjoyed her time in the Ostwick Circle of Magi (yes).

The last answer seemed to surprise her, as it did most people. It wasn't a lie, more like an omission of the facts - but the truth was far more complicated than she cared to explain mid-battle.

Their friendship had really taken off when Cassandra had found her reading an old romance novel Evelyn had found hidden in the back of the Haven Chantry's library one evening. She and the Seeker shared a tent, but Cassandra had had first watch that night, so she hadn't felt guilty pulling it out of the bottom of her bag and stretching out on her stomach on her bedroll to read a few pages.

A few pages became a chapter, and then two chapters, and soon enough, she was halfway through the book, desperate to know if the arrogant Lady Laurita could ever truly love her dashing stablemaster, or if poor, handsome, noble Markus Farrier would take a vow of chastity and join the Order, as he had promised he would if his lady love rejected him.

She was at the beginning of one of the racier parts of the book, the parts that always sent her heart racing and face flushing - even if she knew how unrealistic they were, she couldn't help the thrill of excitement she felt as she read along. Markus had pulled his lady into the stables to steal a kiss, but instead of the quick, innocent meeting that both had expected, it had quickly devolved into something much more passionate. Laurita had been plucked up off the ground and dropped unceremoniously into a hay pile, and too distracted by the warm press of her lover above her to make more than a cursory attempt at indignation. His lips and teeth wandered across her dusky throat, his questing fingers plucking at the strings of her bodice, loosening it slightly with every pass. His knee nudged between hers, and she parted them just enough that he could settle it between her legs. His thigh raised up to -

That was when the flap on the tent flipped open, revealing Cassandra. Her eyes immediately dropped to the cover of the book she was reading, then to the candle that still burned in the tent. With a squeak, Evelyn shoved the novel beneath her bedroll, resting her weight on top of it to dissuade the other woman from trying to pull it out from beneath her.

The tent was silent for a moment as the two women sized each other up. Then, Cassandra let the flap fall shut behind her. "What are you - "

"Nothing," Evelyn said quickly - too quickly. "Absolutely nothing. Nothing at all that would interest you." She nearly groaned when she realized she had forgotten to mark her page and had no idea how far into the book she had been.

Hesitantly, Cassandra sat down cross-legged on the bedroll beside her. There was another extended silence, and Evelyn blew out the candle she had been reading by and settled down to sleep, still silently bemoaning the fact that she would have to go digging through the book to find the part she had been reading next time.

Then, out of the darkness, softly: "Did you get to the ball scene?"

She paused for a moment before answering. "The one where he confesses his love to her through evocative Antivan poetry?"

"Yes."

"I did." Then, she hesitantly continued, "I can't believe her fiancé didn't hear them."

That seemed to be the confirmation Cassandra was waiting for. "By the Maker, I know," she hissed. "He was right around the corner!"

"But he was purring it right into her ear. Maybe it was quiet enough that he didn't notice?"

"Not with the noises she was making."

"Oooo, that's right, he was…"

"He was."

The conversation quickly turned animated despite the late hour; the two women debating what was and wasn't practical about the book, but both agreeing that it was an excellent read.

As soon as the quiet cough echoed from outside, both Cassandra and Evelyn froze. After a moment, the flap of the tent opened a fraction, and Solas' face appeared in the gap, the dying firelight glinting off of his bald head. It was only then that Evelyn realized that their voices had been steadily rising as their excitement grew.

"You two," he said, raising his eyebrows at the two women bent over the book in the middle of the tent, "Are very lucky Varric is a heavy sleeper. I doubt he would ever let you live this down."

Cassandra's face flushed, and she focused her eyes onto the wall of the tent away from Solas. A disgusted noise left her as she pointedly avoided either of their gazes.

The color of Evelyn's face had also deepened until it nearly matched the shade of her hair. "Please don't tell anyone," she said in a small voice.

"Tell anyone what?" Solas said innocently, shooting her a soft smile. "I'm only here to wake you and found you both in a deep, deep sleep. It's your turn to keep watch."

She couldn't help but match his smile. "Thank you, Solas. Get some sleep. I'll wake you at dawn."

As Solas retreated to his tent, she felt Cassandra lightly rest a hand on her arm. "You haven't finished the book yet?" she asked.

Evelyn shook her head. "Don't spoil anything. I want to find out what happens on my own."

"Of course," Cassandra acquiesced immediately. "But I have to ask - what do you think will happen? How do you think it will end?"

Evelyn mulled her reply over before answering. "Laurita is too proud to accept him so easily. He'll probably end up joining the Order in the end."

"Hoping for a sequel?" Cassandra gave her a wry smile.

"Maybe," she said with a mysterious smile. "Besides, who knows? She might enjoy the charm of a templar. They certainly can be alluring under the right conditions."

Something sparked in Cassandra's eyes, and Evelyn's head cocked to one side when she jerked her gaze to the side to hide it. "You find templars...alluring?" she asked. There was a strange tone to her voice; one that Evelyn couldn't quite place.

"A little," she admitted. She leaned in close to Cassandra with a smile, like girls sharing a naughty secret - which was exactly what it was. "When I was back in the Circle, my friends and I used to take our lunch out on the balconies of the tower on hot summer days. We used to pretend we wanted some fresh air, or we wanted to enjoy the nice weather - of course, it had nothing to with the fact that the templars used to train in the courtyard and would pull their shirts off when it got too warm." She leaned back with a giggle, her face glowing with a blush once more. Even the mental image of their sweat-slicked, muscular bodies sent a curl of heat through her.

"Fond of templars?" The corner of Cassandra's mouth turned up in a wry smile. "There are a few around Haven. I could make a couple of introductions, if you'd like."

That quickly doused the warmth blooming in her. "I'd rather you didn't," she said, shorter and sharper than she had intended. She pulled her coat out from beneath her bags - even though it was warm inside the tent, there was a late Kingsway chill in the air, especially in these early hours before morning.

"I thought you liked templars," Cassandra said slowly.

"Not anymore," she responded tersely. With that, she stepped out into the frosty night air, leaving Cassandra behind to her befuddlement.

Though Cassandra asked her a couple of times afterwards about her strange response, she quickly gave up when Evelyn gave little more than vague, noncommittal answers. That was something she liked about Cassandra - if Evelyn was resolute enough, she wouldn't push for answers by asking leading questions. If Cassandra started asking about her time in the Ostwick Circle, it was because she wanted to know about the Ostwick Circle, or her childhood. She was straightforward enough that Evelyn knew she wasn't making a veiled attempt to ask about something she was uncomfortable discussing.

But more than her ferocity in battle or love of silly romance novels, Evelyn appreciated Cassandra's candor. Leliana and Josephine would both tell lies to get what they wanted. Cullen could not be trusted. Varric was a storyteller - falsehoods were his bread and butter, even if they were enjoyable to listen to. She could generally trust Solas to be honest with her - as apostates, they had to look out for each other, and the two of them had come to a silent understanding of sorts - but she also knew that Solas would temper the truth to soften a blow. He did it out of kindness, but there were times when Evelyn needed a direct answer.

She could trust Cassandra to have that sort of bluntness. The Seeker was not a natural-born liar, and Evelyn suspected that if Cassandra tried to deceive her, it would show on her face as plain as day. However, to her knowledge, Cassandra had yet to lie directly to her face. She was honest, even if the truth was hard.

Cassandra had been the one to deliver her the news of the many deaths of the Conclave. Cassandra was the one who had told her of the others from the Ostwick Circle, the mages and Tranquil that she had spent most of her life with, and how their bodies had been found crushed under the rubble. Cassandra had been the one to stand at her side as the funeral pyres burned, had been the one to step away respectfully when the tears in her eyes overflowed and spilled down her cheeks, had been the one to pretend not to hear when she began to sniffle, had been the one to lead her away silently and press a warm mug of mulled cider into her hands afterwards, no questions asked.

Yes, Evelyn truly valued Cassandra's friendship.

That was why the angry look on the Seeker's face worried her so.

In a few days time, Evelyn would leave for Val Royeaux to address the clerics who had gathered there. Most condemned the fledgling Inquisition as opportunistic at best, heretical at worst. Though it had done little to stem the flow of believers steadily trekking into Haven, Thedas needed to be united to stop the Mage-Templar War and close the Breach, which meant winning the Chantry's favor.

Evelyn had been invited to one of the last war table meetings before her departure - she seemed to be attending more and more of those lately. Ever since, however, Cassandra had been in a strange mood. Most days, the two would leave the war room together and head down to the small, over-crowded tavern, where no one would pay any attention to two women discussing a naughty book. That day, she had all but stormed out of the room as soon as the meeting was done.

She hadn't thought much of it at the time - Cassandra was a busy woman, and was bound to have other important duties she needed to take care of. She couldn't spend every evening gossiping with her, after all. Instead, she sought out Varric, eager for more information on his "Tale of the Champion".

It was only after pestering Varric for details about his next book that Evelyn saw Cassandra stalking out from between two buildings, headed for the city wall. She briefly caught her eye, but instead of walking over to join her or even giving a nod in greeting, Cassandra scowled and turned down another path that would take her further away.

Evelyn quickly excused herself to chase after her. "Cassandra!" Her frame stiffened for just a moment, but then she turned to face her. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything is fine," Cassandra said stiffly.

Evelyn didn't buy it for a minute. "If something's wrong, you can tell me. You don't have to tell me what, if you don't want to, but I'd like to know if something's going on."

"I said," Cassandra repeated with a glare, "Everything is fine."

That irked her a little. "Cassandra, we're leaving for Val Royeaux in less than a week. When we arrive, we need to be a united front before the clerics. If I've done something to upset you, tell me. I'd rather deal with any bad blood between us before we leave, instead of letting it fester."

Cassandra let out a deep sigh, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. When she opened them again, her mouth had set into a firm line. "You say that we must be a united front before the clerics; that we cannot show any sign of weakness or argument between us."

"That's right."

"Then why do you contribute to it yourself?"

Evelyn's eyebrows furrowed. "I'm sorry; I'm not sure I understand."

"I'm talking about Commander Cullen."

Ah. That answered her question. Evelyn knew that Cassandra and Cullen were friendly - according to Cassandra's story, she had been the one to recruit him to the Inquisition in the first place, in the early days of the war before anyone knew anything about the Conclave or the Divine's will. They had traveled together for nearly a year; it made sense that they were close.

That didn't mean that Evelyn had to like him. The Commander was a templar - or a former one, at least, though he still clung to his title of Knight-Commander - and during this time of war, she could not afford to trust the Order or its scions.

If that had led to her cool attitude toward him, who could blame her? The advisors of the Inquisition occasionally asked her opinion at the war table on what course of action to take if it would directly affect her, but it was rare for her to agree to Cullen's suggestions. Perhaps she had been dismissive of his ideas, but it was only because she had no idea what his scheme was; what nefarious grand plan he could be putting into action.

And if she was curt with him outside of the war room? Well, she had no reason not to be. Their relationship was strictly professional, as it needed to be. She did not need to like him, and he did not need to like her, though he seemed determined to form some sort of positive connection with her, considering how often he approached her. Thankfully, the cooler and more dismissive she was with him, the more he seemed to realize his friendship was not welcome, and the more he left her to her own devices.

How could she explain to Cassandra that every time she saw the flaming sword emblazoned on his vambraces, she had to clench her hands into fists to hide the shaking that started in them? She could not afford to show him any fear, any kindness, because any sign of weakness he was sure to find and exploit for his own gains.

Even if he always spoken to her gently, despite her animosity, she couldn't allow their exchanges to be anything more that frosty. The last time Evelyn had been approached by a templar with kind eyes and soft words, he had shoved her off of a third-story balcony and accused her of trying to run away before declaring her an apostate. She could not make such a mistake again.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she evaded.

"Do not play coy with me," Cassandra snapped. "Cullen has been nothing but courteous and kind to you, and yet you snap at him at every turn. For the Maker's sake, he still calls you 'Lady Trevelyan' - at your insistence, I might add. I haven't seen you force such formality on anyone else."

It had been a mad tactic to try and keep him at arm's length - which had apparently been far too blatant. "I don't have to explain myself to you," Evelyn huffed.

"No," Cassandra agreed, much to Evelyn's surprise. "You don't. But you are an agent of the Inquisition, and you have to present yourself as such. The people will follow our example - and yours in particular. You are the Herald of Andraste."

Evelyn glanced down at the mark on her palm, its glow dulled beneath her gloves. The title still sent a surprised jolt down her spine, followed by a curl on uneasiness. "I didn't ask to be," she mumbled.

"But you are. And if people see that you, the Herald of Andraste and a mage, are intentionally mistreating a former templar for no apparent reason, they will follow follow your lead. But if you set an example and show that mages and templars can work together, perhaps they will follow suit as well."

As much as Evelyn wanted to fight her on the issue, she knew she couldn't. She would not allow herself to act like petulant child; to pout and tell Cassandra that she didn't want to make nice.

Cassandra was right - she had to be an example to any who watched. With the murmurs about her supposed divinity, the eyes of everyone in Haven and beyond were on her. She could not ask them to do something she was unable to. And who knew? Perhaps, if she extended forgiveness to the Order, perhaps they would reform as well.

That didn't make the trust come any easier.

"I will...try," she finally said. The words tasted like dust in her mouth. "It's...hard to describe, but please try to understand this isn't a simple task for me." She glanced away briefly. "It's complicated."

Cassandra scoffed. "Please. I'm not asking you to marry him." That earned her a snort, and one corner of the Seeker's mouth turned up in half a smile. "Only to be civil - friendly, if you can manage it. You've managed to strike up a camaraderie with Josephine and Leliana - only extend him the same courtesy. If he gives you reason to be upset, tell me and I will deal with him personally - but I don't think he will. Cullen is a good man."

"I trust your judgement," Evelyn replied. Then, she sighed. "I suppose I owe him an apology, don't I? I've been terribly rude to him."

"You do," Cassandra agreed. Evelyn was glad to see the frustrated look on her face had finally cleared away. "But I think you'll figure out a way to do it. Don't worry. By the time we return from Val Royeaux, I'm sure much of the conflict will already be forgotten."

But Evelyn knew she couldn't wait until after their trip to Val Royeaux to speak to him. She was no coward, but she still needed the time to work up the courage. She was not too proud to admit when she was wrong, but that didn't make apologies any easier.

She started small. Whenever she crossed paths with Cullen within Haven, instead of ignoring him or, worse, moving as far out of his way as she could manage, she raised her head to meet his eye and gave him a polite nod as she passed by. The next time she met with the heads of the Inquisition in the war room, she listened to his thoughts and suggestions instead of immediately shutting him down. Taking his advice still made her nervous, but no matter how closely she paid attention, she could see no ulterior motives in his actions - only a desire to help the Inquisition.

She even began to attend some of the training sessions he supervised in the mornings. Cullen was a demanding teacher, accepting nothing less than excellence from his recruits - and for good reason. A single mistake on the battlefield would cost them their lives.

However, that didn't mean he was unkind. Harsh, occasionally, but never cruel. It had taken her a couple of morning training sessions to notice the extra attention he paid to the newest recruits, the ones who had come from farms and fields rather than a barracks. Some of the more experienced soldiers had taken to pushing them around in training, soundly beating young men and women who had never held a sword before without a chance for improvement. It was Cullen that pulled them aside to teach them the tricks that allowed them to thoroughly trounce their tormentors the next time they sparred.

He had noticed her watching him lead the new recruits in a training exercise once. His gaze had wandered over her hiding place in the shadow of Haven's wall and he did a double-take, his eyes snapping to meet hers. Evelyn froze where she was standing, caught between fight and flight.

Neither, she reminded herself. He's an ally. There's no need for fear. Instead of stalking off like she hadn't been watching him or glaring him down, she simply held his gaze, her face flushing, unsure what to do now that she had be caught. She was glad for both the distance between them and the shade she stood in, so he couldn't see the evidence of her embarrassment coloring her face.

Cullen was the first to react. His hand jerked up from where it had been resting on the pommel of his sword. He hesitated for just a second, the hand hovering awkwardly in midair, before his fingers spread outward and he gave her a hesitant wave.

The motion was so unexpected, so uncertain, that she almost laughed. Cullen usually kept up such a serious, confident front at the war table; seeing him look indecisive was endearing in its own strange way.

Her own hand rose up as well, and she offered up her own nervous wave of her own, as well as a slight smile to go with it. One side of his mouth turned up in a crooked grin.

It didn't last long, as his head jerked to the side when of the recruits dropped his shield again and he marched up to scold him, but it stuck in her mind as one of their first positive interactions.

It was the way he treated the few mages that had joined the Inquisition that really convinced her, though. He was civil to them, helped them settle in when he needed to. Courtesy was the bare minimum requirement for the way a templar treated a mage, so she hadn't been impressed at first.

That is, until she noticed the rhythmic way his hands clenched and unclenched whenever he was speaking to a mage - the same nervous tick she had developed lately whenever she was speaking with a templar, a not-quite-unconscious effort to hide any shaking in her hands (and in her case, an attempt to dispel the magic that gathered at her fingertips in response to her anxiety).

Maker, he was just as nervous around mages as she was around templars, but while she had pushed them away to protect herself, Cullen was overcoming his apprehension for the sake of the Inquisition.

Master your fear, her mentor used to say, or it will master you. Evelyn had allowed her fear to rule her for far too long. Cullen was the one setting a good example, not her - she only needed to follow his lead.

She finally approached him the morning before she was to leave for Val Royeaux. The dawn training session was over, and only a few recruits remained outside of Haven's walls, practicing the techniques the Commander had taught them a few more times to ingrain the movements into their muscles before wandering off to find their first meal of the day.

A small table had been set up outside of the tents that were being used as a temporary armory, a few papers stacked with rocks resting on top of them to keep the brisk morning wind from whisking them away. She knew from experience that the papers were full of requisitions. The Inquisition was currently in the interesting position of having more recruits than they had supplies, and orders went out every day for everything from uniforms to materials for new training dummies.

Evelyn found Cullen leaning against that table, his face turned toward the rising sun. His eyes were closed and he breathed deeply, seeming to simply be enjoying the beginning of the day. The morning light lit up his golden hair and bounced off the silverite armor he wore under layers of wrapped, crimson fabric. The effect was uncanny - in the dawn's glow, he blazed, as if illuminated by some inner light.

The sound of the snow crunching under her boots heralded her arrival, and Cullen's eyes slowly opened when he heard her approach. The change was immediate - he stood up straight from his leaning position, his hands returning to his sides where they had once been crossed loosely in front of his chest.

Even when she stopped in front of him, it seemed to take him a moment before he realized she was actually here to talk to him, and not someone just behind him. "Ah, good morning," he managed to get out.

"Good morning," she greeted him in return, dipping her head respectfully at his acknowledgement. When she raised it again, she realized she had to look up slightly to meet his eye. Evelyn had been tall even when she had been a girl, looking down even on the older boys. However, Cullen was even taller than she, though not by more than an inch or two. Still, the effect was strange - it wasn't often that she felt small, and even rarer that she felt so without being afraid or sad. (Nervous, maybe - but the fear had mostly been chased away.) "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Wh - no, no! You didn't. Disturb me, that is," he said too quickly.

"Do you...mind if I join you, then?" Evelyn took note of the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed and how one hand rose to rub at the back of his neck. His eyes had darted away from her again, focusing anywhere but her face, and the hand that remained at his side had started up that agitated twitching again.

However, despite his nervousness, he acquiesced. "Of course." Once more, he leaned back against the table, this time curling his hands around the wood behind him. Though the pose should have looked natural, his body looked was too stiff, making the motion more awkward than it should have been.

Evelyn didn't want to scare him, even if he was putting on a show of staying collected. She moved forward to mimic his posture, leaning back against the table with her arms crossed to protect herself from the morning mountain chill, but as far away from him as she could manage. It was further than she normally would have positioned herself for a conversation, but it did wonders - the rhythmic tick of his fingers against the wood of the table slowed, and his shoulders dropped slightly from their tensed position.

But she still had no idea how to start. Weeks of her own frosty animosity stretched the already considerable space between them even further. How did she even start to bridge this gap?

"It's a beautiful morning," she tried hesitantly. Terrible start! she scolded herself, but she had already begun, and she could only press on.

"It is," he agreed, just as carefully.

"Maybe I should start more of my days out here."

She felt his eyes dart toward her face before they returned to the frosty landscape before them. The last of the recruits finally sheathed their swords, chatting amicably as they left the training yard. "If you'd like, Lady Trevelyan."

She winced at the title. Right. That. "It's Evelyn. Just Evelyn."

This time when his gaze flicked to her face, it remained. "Are you sure?" he asked slowly.

She nodded. She might have corrected him to address her more formally before, but no more. "I am. I haven't been 'Lady Trevelyan' since I left for the Circle. I only make people use my title if I'm mad at them."

The last bit had been meant as a joke, but Cullen was silent for a long moment. "Ah," he finally said. The tone of his voice was strangled and strange, filled with an emotion she couldn't quite place. Disappointment? Hurt? Confusion? She wasn't quite sure.

Her chin tilted down, and she nudged at the snow beneath her feet with the toe of her boot. "About that…" she cleared her throat briefly. "I'm sorry. I've been treating you poorly without any reason whatsoever. You've been nothing but kind to me, and yet I've brushed you off at every turn. That was unworthy of me - and unworthy of you, too."

"I…It's fine." If he was trying to hide his surprise, he was doing a poor job of it. "I'm used to mages disliking me on principle. In comparison, you've been...very considerate."

"Hardly," she snorted, "and even if I have, comparisons shouldn't matter. You've done nothing to hurt me, and I should be setting a good example."

"Ah. Cassandra spoke with you."

"She did, but she was right. She only needed to point it out to me."

The longer they spoke, the more Cullen seemed to relax. He still looked nervous, but not quite so much as before, as if the more they talked, the more he forgot that he was speaking to a mage instead of a regular person.

"You have more than enough reason to be upset, though," he pointed out. "You've probably seen the worst that the templars can do."

She hesitated briefly. "It's...more complicated than that," she said slowly.

Cullen waited patiently for her to continue, though it made the silence stretch on for several seconds. Finally, she asked, "Did you know I used to like the Order?"

That surprised him. "Really?"

She nodded. "The way I came into my magic...it wasn't pleasant, and I spent my first year or so in the Circle terrified of it - of myself. The only thing that brought me any peace was the presence of the Order. They were the ones that gave me the confidence to finally try to learn more about the abilities that had been thrust upon me, because I knew if I made a mistake, if I lost control or was possessed or any of the number of things that could go wrong when it comes to magic, the Order would be there to stop me and keep me from hurting anyone."

"Of course, Ostwick was also not a typical Circle. Most of what anyone hears about it is that it was terribly dull - Ostwick has fewer reported possessions, apostates, and blood mages than nearly any other city in the Free Marches. Because of that, the templars are more relaxed than the ones you would find in other Circles, and even the rules about interactions between them and their charges were mostly ignored. Since the templars were so much more easygoing, for the most part, mages didn't fear them either - I used to count several templars in the Ostwick chapter of the Order among my closest friends. There were extremists on both sides, obviously, but they were in the minority."

"News about the Kirkwall Rebellion caused some unrest in the Circle, but for the most part, everything stayed the same. Our First Enchanter left for Cumberland to meet with the College of Enchanters. Everyone expected it to blow over eventually, and the Circles would return to how they had once been."

"Everything changed when the letter came in from our First Enchanter, when the College voted to separate from the Chantry. No one had expected the outcome. The Knight-Commander, though, was the sense of stability we needed. The Ostwick Circle of Magi would abide by the College's decision - and yet many mages still stayed in the Circle instead of leaving. It was the only life they had ever known, and the Ostwick Circle had always been safe. Even when most of the Order broke away from the Chantry, the Ostwick templars stayed loyal. That was how deeply the trust ran."

"However, not everyone was happy with these decisions. Since the Circles had been dissolved, some of the more radical mages decided to leave and join what remained of the College and the rebellion at Andoral's Reach. The Knight-Commander allowed them to leave, surprisingly enough - which angered some of the templars under his command. They had no choice in the matter, though - the Divine would allow the mages to break away from the Chantry, and the Knight-Commander followed her decisions. Without rebelling themselves, they couldn't do anything."

"Well, not without orders from the Divine, at least." Evelyn swallowed thickly, and her eyes dropped to the ground again. The end of the story was always difficult to tell.

"There was a day, several months back, when a letter arrived with the Chantry's seal attached to it. A writ from the Divine herself - invoking the Rite of Annulment on all mages that had remained in the Circles."

"And the Knight-Commander - a man who I had trusted to protect me, not only from myself, but from anything the outside world might throw at me - he obeyed it. He sent out the orders, and templars - men and women I used to think of as my friends - started throwing open doors in the middle of the night, murdering any mage they could find. Even the Tranquil weren't safe."

"As you can imagine, the mages of the Circle did not accept this decision, and fought back. The slaughter was - horrendous. Monstrous. In a single day, more abominations were created in Ostwick that the entirety of the past decade."

"Not everyone accepted the orders so easily. A few templars refused to take part, and some even turned against their brothers and sisters in the Order and began to help the mages. But the majority did as the writ had asked without even questioning it. It wasn't until I snuck into the templar quarters and found that one of the more extremist templars had forged a fake of the Divine's seal that anyone realized that the order for the Rite of Annulment that the Knight-Commander received had been falsified."

"By that time, out of more than a hundred mages that had once lived in the Ostwick Circle, less than a score remained. The Knight-Commander gave a formal apology, but it was just words. What had once been could never be returned."

"The hardest to hear was his decision concerning the few templars that had refused to fight with them. He said their disobedience could not be tolerated within the Order, even if they had been in the right. The worst of the rebels were executed, the rest were kicked out of the Order."

"That's why my feelings on this matter are complicated," she finally finished. "My mind knows that there are good and bad templars, just as there is good and bad among everyone else. The heart is not so easily convinced - especially when all it remembers when it sees the Sword of Mercy is the bloodbath in Ostwick." She looked to her right, her eyes coming to rest on his face once more. "But...something tells me it's the same for you too, isn't it? Mages aren't so easy to trust, either."

His head jerked to the left the meet her eye, but then his chin dropped again a he focused on the ground. "I - that is - Yes." He swallowed thickly. "I used to serve in Ferelden - in Kinloch Hold. When...During the Blight…" The words sounded forced, even to her ear.

"You don't have to," Evelyn said quickly, and he shot her a relieved look. "I was the one that's been in the wrong, and you deserved an explanation for why I was treating you as I was. You don't owe me anything, and you don't have to tell me anything you don't want."

"Oh, thank the Maker," he breathed. "And thank you." His jaw worked as he formulated his next sentence. "I am sorry about what happened in Ostwick, and how it stained your view of the Order. There are good and bad templars - I strive to be the former, but I'm afraid I accidentally stumble into the latter category far more often than I would like. But I will try to prove to you that I am worthy of your trust." He finally focused on her face, his eyes determined. "I swear it."

"That you say you will earn it instead of just asking for it already says more than you could know," she said warmly, giving him a slight smile. He returned it, before his cheeks pinkened and he glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Still anxious about her magic, then. "I will try to do the same."

"You don't need to - "

"I do," she said firmly.

Cullen hesitated, but then he nodded. "Thank you."

Evelyn's teeth sunk into her lower lip briefly before she spoke again. "I...wonder if I might ask you a couple of questions. About the Order."

"If you want to know what the templars are doing right now, I'm afraid I can't offer anything more than what you already know. I had already left the Order by the time they broke away from the Chantry."

"Not about that. I actually wanted to know more about the Order itself - what it's like living as a templar, what life was like in other Circles. I've seen a couple of other Circles, traveled to Starkhaven and Markham, but I've only ever lived in Ostwick." She shrugged. "Maybe I'm trying to find a reason for what the templars did in my Circle, some sort of justification. I don't know. I'd like to hear anyways."

His eyes softened. "I don't know if I can answer that. Most likely, they felt backed into a corner and thought they had no other choice. It doesn't make what they did right, but…I'm not sure."

"Tell me anyways," she insisted.

"If you'd like. Where do you want me to start?"

She paused to consider his question. "How about joining the Order? How did you become a templar?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you." Her mouth quirked up in a smile. "You are the only one here."

His head jerked up and he surveyed the training yard, only just now realizing that it had cleared out. "Blast," he muttered to himself. "I told Everett he was supposed to run that drill for at least an hour."

That prompted a chuckle from her, and he turned his head to give her a ghost of a smile before answering her question. "Most templars were promised to the Order at a young age - some are even given to the Chantry at birth."

"Were you?"

"No. I grew up in Ferelden, near Honnleath. There was a group of templars stationed at the Chantry there - it's not uncommon for apostates to flee into the Frostbacks, so they were needed for security reasons." A wistful smile spread across his face. "I used to be fascinated - to me, being a templar was about protecting people in need, and I could think of no higher calling. I used to beg them to train me, and finally the Knight-Captain spoke to my parents, who agreed to send me for training."

"What is the training like? Both of my younger brothers joined the Order, but they never spoke of their training when I wrote them."

"They may have felt it wasn't interesting enough to write to you about. There's weapon and combat training, history lessons, memorizing portions of the Chant of Light - the training is intense, but the content is standard. Many would find it boring."

"Did you?"

"On the contrary - I loved it. If I was going to devote my life to the Order, I wanted to give it everything. I would be the best templar I could."

"Ah, the model student. I can see that," she said with a smile.

"I tried to be," he chuckled. "I can't say I was always successful."

The two shared a laugh at that before Evelyn asked her next question. "What about becoming a templar? Is there a test, or do you just wake up a full-fledged member of the Order one day?"

"There is no test, but an initiate must be at least eighteen before they can officially become a templar. There's a vigil the night before - you're meant to be at peace, meditating on the Chant of Light and starting into the sacred fires of Andraste, but your whole life is about to change. At dawn, there's a small ceremony, attended by your brothers and sisters in the Order and your family, if you know them. You say your vows in front of the fire, and the Knight-Commander gives you your first draught of lyrium - and the power it bears."

"Vows?" she asked. "What sort of vows? Hopefully not 'I swear to the Maker I shall watch all mages'."

"Nothing like that," he smiled. "We swear not to seek wealth or acknowledgement. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we've chosen, not our pride."

"I see," she said, but there was a question that had been nagging at her for years, ever since a templar with bright green eyes and a crooked smile had taken her hand and pressed his lips softly to her cheek. She had heard rumors, but…"A life of service and duty. Does that mean that templars are also expected to give up...physical temptations?"

"Physical temptations? Why would you-" he cut himself off abruptly, re-evaluated why he wanted to know, and changed his next statement. "It's...not expected. Templars are allowed to marry, though there are some rules around it. Some choose to give up...more to prove their devotion to the Order, but it's not, um, required."

It was hard not to smile at the flush slowly spreading across her cheeks. Back in Ostwick - during the good times, at least - her friends used to tease her because she blushed easily and noticeably, and had even made up a little contest to see who could match the color of her face to her hair the closest. She hadn't understood the appeal.

Until now, at least.

She gave a sly smile. "And you?"

"Me?"

"Yes. Did you give up, ah, fraternization?"

Though asking made her face burn as well, the reward was well worth it. The red of Cullen's blush now reached from his hairline all the way down his neck. "Um, ah - no. I've taken no such vows, so I'm not...celibate." He cleared his throat suddenly. "Maker's breath, can we please speak of something else?"

Evelyn laughed, but obligingly changed the subject. "What was a typical day like for a templar? After you've taken your vows, of course," which prompted another fit of embarrassed coughing from the man beside her.

Their conversation wandered after that, ranging from more questions about the Order to her own time in the Ostwick Circle to complaints about the Inquisition's lack of supplies.

Eventually, when the sun was high in the sky, Evelyn plucked herself up from the edge of the table. She had moved closer to him while they were talking when a cold morning wind had started up, whipping their words away as they spoke them. There was still a good foot of space between them, but Cullen's larger frame had blocked the chill of the breeze excellently. Best of all, he hadn't seemed perturbed when she had shifted closer to him - it was nice to see that they might be able to overcome their differences.

"I should probably leave you to find lunch before you have to run more drills," she said. "I need to find Josephine - she wanted to brief me on my trip of Val Royeaux before I leave."

Cullen also stood up straight from his leaning position. "That's right. You leave tomorrow morning, don't you?"

Evelyn nodded. "Do you think you can keep the peace while I'm away? I saw the fight outside the Chantry the other day - I know Chancellor Roderick has been stirring up trouble. Remind me why we've allowed him to stay?"

"Chancellor Roderick is an annoyance, but he's harmless as long as he's here in Haven. He'd be far more detrimental out in the rest of the world, slandering the Inquisition." He snorted. "Or, at least, that's what the Lady Ambassador keeps telling me. Don't worry about Haven. It will still be standing when you return - I'll make sure of it."

"I hope I can return with good news, then," she said, making her way around the table toward the gates of Haven.

"Oh, and Lady Trev - Evelyn," Cullen corrected himself.

Evelyn paused to glance back at him. "Yes?"

"Stay safe."

"You don't need to worry about that, Commander," she said with a smile. "I always do."


A/N: Generally, I am going to try to update this once a week. However, since we are just starting out, I'm including this as a bonus chapter this week! Regular updates will start on Saturday.

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