It had been a long day, and Cullen was more than ready for it to be over. He sighed as he looked at the ever-growing stacks of parchment and codices in his office. One day, he would have to wade through the mess, but in the mean time they seemed to be the least pressing of his many, many duties. One or two of the piles had been bequeathed to him by the previous Knight-Captain, who had been venerably retired these last four years, so being several years behind on his paperwork by now seemed almost a matter of upholding tradition. He could envision a chain of dossiers and reports, unread and unfinished, stretching through the years from over-burdened Knight-Captain to over-burdened Knight-Captain back to the founding of the Kirkwall Circle itself. It made for an interesting and not entirely un-amusing legacy.

Meredith had offered to assign him one of the Tranquil to assist him in organizing his office and affairs, extolling the virtues of her own assistant, but he had politely refused. There was no doubt the girl was capable, but her presence made him uneasy. The Tranquil did not suffer, or so the Chantry said, and it was a necessary function of dealing with mages, even a kindness in some cases, but he could not help a private feeling of sadness, tinged with a little guilt, for the afflicted. If only there were another way…

"Knight-Captain." A dead-pan voice said from behind him and he flinched a little at the coincidence, turning. It was not Meredith's assistance, but one of the others, a young man bearing the brand of Tranquility on his brow who acted as a messenger. He had left his door open, intending only to stop in for a moment before returning to his quarters to rest awhile before dinner, and the Tranquil stood there, unnervingly still and expressionless, waiting.

"Yes, what is it?'

"Mistress Aenora Hawke is waiting at the gates. She does not have an appointment, but requests to speak with you."

Cullen felt his heartbeat quicken slightly, but forced himself to maintain his sober expression. Hawke. He had actually been looking for a reason to speak to her for a month or so now, but had not yet found the time or the excuse. By now, they were friendly enough that he could have made it a social call, but the last time he had called upon the Hawke residence it had been to collect her sister for the Circle and he could not say what he wanted to say to her with her mother thinking poisonous thoughts at him nearby.

In fact, he could not bring himself to say what he wanted to say to her anywhere and that was the problem. His upbringing in the Chantry had not prepared him for this and his last experience along these lines had been…well, unfortunate and impossible. Or unfortunately impossible, and now a painfully moot point by any standards, he reminded himself. But this was different. There were no real barriers this time, only those he created for himself, Maker help him.

"Yes. Yes, of course." He said, rousing himself from his thoughts, "Show her in, please."

With the Tranquil gone, he shifted dusty stacks of vellum and ran his fingers through his hair, checking his reflection with disappointment in the mirrored pane of the window. Hawke was a practical woman, he knew, not much impressed by the petty appearance of things, but he sorely wished now that he had at least taken the time to wash his face before coming in off the practice field. Ah, well. Make do.

Soon, there was a rap at the door and he forced himself to move at a reasonable pace to open it. Mustn't appear too eager, he told himself, but the face that greeted him on the other side of the door stopped him in his thoughts as always.

Hawke was not beautiful by the courtly standards of Kirkwall. Her body was the compact and lean-muscled body of a soldier, not lithe and slim as was the fashion here. Her features, though well-proportioned, were robustly Ferelden, not delicate like a Marcher maiden. When she walked, she did not glide, she strode. To Cullen, though, she was exactly the sort of strong, independent woman he missed from his years in Ferelden and that was more beautiful to him than a dozen primped and painted courtiers, all the more so because he knew amidst the glorious outer wrapping, there lived one of the most genuinely good hearts he had ever met.

"Please, come in." he told her, stepping back to allow her in. She smiled at him, glancing around the office, and he could see one corner of her mouth turn up quirkily, endearingly, as she surveyed the piles of papers. If he remembered correctly, she had teased him about it before, mentioning the holocaust of innocent animals whose skins had gone into making the vellum for all those useless documents.

"I'm not interrupting you, am I?" she asked, "I know Meredith is keeping you busy lately. I wouldn't want to distract you from something important."

Oh, distract me, he thought, with a longing, inward smile, but only waved her to a chair.

"Not at all." He pulled up a chair to sit across from her rather than behind the desk. It felt like a barrier and he had more than enough mental barriers to fight through without adding a physical one. Besides, it had been too long since he had had a chance to be in her presence and he wanted to savor it, "How have you been? It has been…what two months nearly?"

"I believe so. I'm well enough." She said, but there was a slight…tension…in her words that he could not place. Nervousness? She had never seemed particularly nervous round him before, and for a brief moment he indulged himself in the fantasy that she might be suffering some mirror version of his own discomforting feelings. Whatever the case, there was clearly something on her mind, "And you, Cullen?"

"The same. Busier than I would like to be of late. The work of the Order is never done. As you can see." He said, with a smile, and was pleased when she returned it, "Actually, I have a matter that I would discuss with you, but it can wait. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Her eyes shifted sideways away from him for a moment, her expression falling slightly, and he wondered with rampant curiosity what that portended. Truthfully, he had been worried about her anyway, lately. He had seen her once or twice in the Chantry, lost in prayer or her own meditations, with such a troubled expression on her face that he had been tempted to interrupt her to find out what had gone wrong. And, as always, there was the stray Grey Warden mage. His jaw tightened automatically at the thought. That was a different muddle for a different day, though.

"I have a question for you." She said, more cautiously than she generally spoke, "More of a request, really."

"If it is in my power to help, I will do what I can. You have certainly assisted me and the Order often enough." He said, diplomatically. Whatever she was thinking, this was apparently difficult for her, and he softened, "Whatever is said, it will not go beyond this room. I promise you that."

"I was wondering," she began, slowly, buying time to find the words, perhaps, "whether you could teach me a thing or two about dealing with abominations."

He sat back slightly, surprised. Not at all what he was expecting, but no less troubling.

"Why?"

"I've been seeing more and more of them in my work in the city." She replied. There was a note of discomfort in her voice that set something in the back of his mind crying out a warning, but he tried to shake it away. Hawke had never lied to him before that he knew of, even when what she had to say was difficult for him to hear. There was no real reason to suspect she would lie now, though he thought there was a chance she might hold something back if she thought it could hurt someone. That was almost as worrisome.

"We have had more reports recently, that is true." He concurred, slowly, tactfully, trying to read through her expression what was going on her mind, "Do you suspect that there are larger forces at work?"

She paused as if really considering this suggestion and then shook her head.

"I don't know. This is not my area of expertise. I do well enough, but I don't like to gamble lives on uncertainties where they can be corrected." She said, "I know that there is certain knowledge…certain talents…that templars have regarding this sort of thing. I thought perhaps you could teach me, so that I could be better prepared."

He watched her for a long moment, at the hopeful look in her face that she turned up to him. She has no idea what she's asking for, he thought, and shook his head. Even if she knew, it was an impossible request.

"You should let the Order deal with that." He said, gravely, "Abominations…apostate mages…are dangerous. I've seen what they can do to a person..."

A flash of a pale, terrified face, mouth open in a silent rictus of agony…a feeling like a seething mass of tendril-like fingers in his mind, plucking at his memories, twisting his hidden desires into horrors too terrible to contemplate until he thought he would go mad, prayed for death as a means of ending it…

"Cullen." Her voice said nearby and he snapped out of his thoughts, feeling cold sweat beading on his brow. For a split second Hawke's voice sounded like hers, but he knew it was an illusion. Even all these years later, the flashbacks still happened sometimes. Usually, he could guard against them, stop them before they overtook him, but he had been concentrating too much on her and the unwelcome images had surprised him. He did not remember standing, but he was, his fists clenched, and Hawke was standing now, too, staring up at him with concern, her hand on his upper arm. He could not feel the touch physically through the steel spaulder he wore, but his body reacted to it just the same. He shook his head and pressed the fingers of one hand to his brow.

"Forgive me, it is a passionate subject for me."

"You still see it in your mind sometimes, don't you? What happened with at the Ferelden Circle?" she asked, frankly, with crushing gentleness. Despite all the work they had done together over the last three years, she had never touched him, never spoken to him with such…intimacy, if that was the word for it…and it shot through his defenses like an arrow through chainmail.

"Not as much now, but yes. At times."

She nodded as if this confirmed what she already knew.

"I knew a man in the Ferelden army who had been tortured by the Orlesians during the war when he was a young man and he had terrible nightmares, sometimes even waking dreams, of it. I'm sorry that it happened to you, Cullen. You did not deserve that."

He stared down into her eyes for a moment, conflicting and contradictory emotions battling for dominance inside of him. There was nothing but sincerity, naked empathy for his pain, in her eyes, and that melted his heart.

"If you want to chase abominations, why not join the Order?" he asked, after he had found his voice again a moment later, "I know you serve the Maker in your heart and the Maker knows I could use the help."

She smiled, ruefully, and shook her head, as she drew back her hand.

"Don't think I haven't considered it. But with Bethany in the Circle and my brother gone, I can't. I have the estate and Mother to care for. Secular life keeps me hopping enough."

"The two spheres aren't mutually exclusive." He urged, warming to the idea. Despite her views on mages, he had no doubt Hawke would make an ideal templar. Spiritually, he suspected she was part of the way there already. And if she were in the Order, he thought, selfishly, he would see her more often, and perhaps he could find a way then to say the things that remained trapped like hornets in his heart.

"If I joined, who would you get to do your covert work for you?" she replied, and then her expression grew serious, "I'm more useful to you outside the Order, Cullen. I can go places your templars can't. If you train me, I can be even more useful. You know me well enough by now, I think, to know I would not abuse anything I learned."

"I know." He said, quickly, trying to think despite the distracting, haunting memory of the weight of her hand on his arm, the expression in her eyes. She made a convincing argument, and she was right, she could go places he could not. But he knew what training her would mean, and his heart shuddered to think of it. He sighed, "It's not without risks. That's why there is such a long training period before recruits are granted their knighthood, to weed out those who might be harmed. Without the support of the Order, it would be dangerous indeed."

She cocked her head at this, but he could see her resolve remained unphased.

"I'm not afraid." She said, and he clenched his teeth, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. You're not afraid because you don't know what you're asking for.

"That is beside the fact that I would be breaking vows by training you."

"I won't ask you to break your word." She replied, "But surely there are things you could teach me without compromising yourself."

She was stubborn, he knew that well enough from their interactions to date. Like a mabari, once she was set on something, she was intractable. She wanted this, it was strangely important to her for some reason he could not yet fathom, and he had no doubt she would find a way. If not him, then she would find someone else, less scrupulous maybe, and he could not bear to imagine what would happen if something went wrong…

"Let me think about it." He said, and saw her smile, "I promise nothing, but I will think on it and we will see."

"That's all I ask." She said.

"You think about what I've said." He continued, hurriedly, raising his eyebrows at her, "I have no doubt the Order would gladly accept you, and then all of this could be done properly through official channels."

"I will think about it." She promised, and then she touched his arm again, "Thank you. I'm sorry to have to ask this of you, but it is important to me, and I know that I can trust you."

He could think of nothing else to say to this, as she twisted deeper inside of his heart, and so he only nodded.

"I'll send word to you in a few days." He said, and with that, she left, and he sat down heavily behind his desk and pressed his fingers to his temples, wondering how in Andraste's name he got himself into these situations and what he was going to do.