Two

Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.

-H.L. Mencken

*

Cullen was taking the books to Greagoir before they could burn a hole in his armor. He was going to have to scrub his eyes just to get that one tantalizing image out of his brain. Steaming, Cullen stomped down the corridor, accidentally slamming his shoulder into a fellow Templar, who cried out in surprise and alarm. Cullen didn't pause to apologize or excuse himself. He was incandescent, lit with the flames of righteousness.

Yes, good. He would deposit the books on Greagoir's desk and say… say… "See? They're trouble! They're all trouble! This only proves it."

A tiny voice in the back of Cullen's head whimpered, "It's her first day."

That's not the point.

Cullen slowed his steps, his arms trembling a little. Mages shouldn't have corrupting ideas swimming in their heads. That's how they became blood mages, that's how the demons found them. But perhaps in Orlais they were less strict about these things. Maybe the girl simply didn't know. No, that was idiotic, she had been hiding them. She knew they were wrong and filthy and… and… banned. Not only that, she had used magic to try and conceal them. What word had Irving used? That's right. Prodigy. Cullen hated that word, fixated on it. He heard "prodigy" and knew that it really meant "freak." She was powerful. Dangerous. This had catastrophe written all over it.

And really, that was just the tip of the horrific iceberg. Just before her arrival, standing in the hall waiting and wishing his armor were ten pounds lighter, Cullen had overheard Irving mention that she was just nineteen years old. Nineteen? Who in all of Thedas would let a girl that young dress so provocatively? He sighed. Orlesians, that's who. She was beautiful, radiant, and he was furious with Greagoir and Irving. How dare they send him headlong into a trap? Nobody had warned him she would be so young, or so pretty. And he was certain nobody had explained to him that it was perfectly acceptable for gorgeous young Orlesian women to wear cobalt robes that plunged down to their bellybutton and left precisely nothing to the imagination.

He was sweating. Again. Pull yourself together. He was huffing, too, breathing as if he'd just run from the edge of Lake Calenhad up to the Harrowing Chamber without stopping. Cullen was just a few feet away from Greagoir's office, dawdling in the anteroom, surrounded by the stern faces of statues that, in all likelihood, agreed with turning her in. This couldn't go unmentioned. Greagoir had specifically told him to look out for strange behavior. This qualified.

She's nineteen, that unbelievably annoying little voice said, it's her first day.

Perhaps he was being unfair. She was far from home, probably frightened and sad, and judging by her expressions, completely put out by what they offered her for accommodations. The young mage did not look pleased at all to be living in the cramped dormitories. Cullen couldn't blame her. He also couldn't imagine the scandal if some innocent, well-meaning Fereldan apprentice had come across her reading one of those books. Cullen was just glad he had managed to confiscate them. But now what? He was no longer so sure it was right to tattle. Everyone deserved a second chance.

Except mages, remember? Which she is… Moron.

So instead, he would just hide them. That was the simplest solution. Templars were given their own rooms, he could easily shove them in a box and keep them beneath his bed, or no, in his closet. Cullen turned on his heel, not expecting to find Greagoir waiting just behind him. He nearly slammed into the Knight-Commander, his arms full of filthy reading material. Greagoir looked pleased to see him, if a little distracted. Cullen shifted his arms until he was quite sure all of the covers were hidden. His armor felt unmanageably heavy and hot.

"Off to the library?" Greagoir asked, raising one steel-colored eyebrow.

"Found a mess, ser," Cullen muttered, "In the hall."

"Children," Greagoir said with a sigh. "Always forgetting to pick up after themselves."

That new Orlesian mage is dangerous and vile and should be locked away forever to keep us safe. Cullen breezed by, his smile wavering. He remembered Irving's words. Pick your battles. He would keep an eye on that mage, and if she caused more trouble, then he would seek Greagoir's opinion. Mercy and understanding were noble qualities in a Templar too, right? Right?

"Did you say something?"

Cullen paused, swallowing hard. "No, ser. Me, ser? No."

"Oh, right. Say – how's our newest apprentice settling in?" Greagoir asked, halfway into his office.

Like a fox in a henhouse…

"S-Seems fine, ser. A little disoriented maybe," Cullen said. That's two lies. He winced.

"That's to be expected," the Knight-Commander said with a shrug. "Carry on."

Cullen did not run to his room, though his skin seethed, covered in itchy flames. He felt as if every single mage and Templar he passed was watching him, judging him. Somehow they knew. Somehow they could smell his guilt. He cursed himself for being such a pathetic doormat. That girl should be on her way to Aeonar, not roaming the halls of the Tower. There was no room for leniency, not at all, and yet…

No. One more chance. She had one more chance to follow the rules. They could always make her Tranquil. Then he thought of those striking blue eyes staring blankly and his heart gave a troublesome lurch. Cullen kicked open the door to his room, which he did not lock – what did a Templar have to hide? – and shoved the books under his bed.

Why are you sweating? Stop sweating.

He sat down hard on the mattress, dumping his head into his hands. He felt like a fool. Not just for siding with a mage, which was unheard of, but for siding with a mage who was rude and untrustworthy and foreign.

Yes. Leave. Go stutter at someone else.

Cullen squeezed his eyes shut. She had no idea what she had said, what that meant. He had gotten over his speech impediment, mostly. It hadn't returned since before the Tower fell. There had been one mage who made him stammer. He couldn't help it. She made him nervous with her yearning glances and flirtations. Cullen had grown up with that stutter, lived with it all his life. As a boy, his mother would tell him it was because he was just too smart – he had too many ideas and they were all rushing to come out at once. She told him that every morning before school to make him feel strong, to give him protection from the teasing children… Every morning, that is, until the house burned down and she was taken from him. And then nobody wanted him. Nobody but the Chantry.

And Cullen had mastered that weakness in adolescence, overcoming his stuttering until that one, lovely mage was so very kind to him. The other Templars were merciless. What's the matter Cullen, mage got your tongue? But they were all dead now, and she was dead, too. The memory of her screams as the demons overtook her still played over and over again in his nightmares. Mallory, Mallory, resist them! That memory drifted back, shrieking in his ears, blood thundering in his head. Cullen snapped his head up. He wouldn't give in to despair. His eyes slanted downward, to the hidden contraband beneath him. Perhaps unclean books were enough to tempt demons out of the Fade. Was he endangering himself by harboring them?

Silly. A silly idea. They were just books. He couldn't even read them. Not that he wanted to. He would burn them, he decided, at the first opportunity. It's not like he could return them to the mage, and he had no use for them. It wasn't smart to keep temptations around. There were enough challenges in the world without having to contend with dirty stories lurking under his bed. Like pretty blonde mages with sparkling blue eyes…

That wasn't helpful.

He would have to pray. His mind seemed determined to draw his thoughts toward forbidden ideas. This was a test, only a test of his faith. The chapel would sooth him, it always did. Then he would take his lyrium and go to midday meal and everything would be perfectly normal again.

* * *

Lisette waited for a punishment that never came.

She was tense and drawn all through the midday meal – which was tolerable, owing only to the Orlesian cook running the kitchen – and fumbled with her cutlery like a hopeless barbarian. The other Orlesians at the table tried to make conversation. She could only hope they attributed her bumbling to nerves. Lisette answered their questions as best she could, while ticking down the seconds until someone swept in and screamed at her. The dining hall was almost full. She would be humiliated in front of everyone – her peers, her new teachers, the Templars… But nobody came. Surely, that stammering Templar with the nice hair had been given plenty of time to report her infractions? He had been furious with her so why was it taking so long? Perhaps this was part of the punishment, making her day dreadful and nauseating while she waited for judgment.

Shrewd. Shrewd and extremely cruel.

Not as cruel as the Templars in Verchiel, maybe, but ingenious enough. Even this, however, seemed excessive. Making her tremulous, making her thoughts race, making her formulate dozens of ways to refute the Templar's story... As if she could. The evidence was overwhelming. And damning. She couldn't talk her way out of this one. Worst of all, Didier would be disappointed – not mad or spiteful, just disappointed. Lisette hated disappointing Didier. He was the one person who believed in her. When all the other mages wanted to make her Tranquil, take her life and happiness away, Didier had stuck up for her and prevailed. Didier himself sat beside her, smoothly dismantling his chicken thigh and eating with his usual quick, deft bites. He did everything like a dance.

"Could we go to the training hall," Lisette said quietly, poking at her food, "After the meal?"

"I thought you wanted to rest," Didier said in between bites.

"I'm not tired."

Didier finished eating a moment later, and Lisette left the table with a few noncommittal sounds to the other Orlesians. It was a relief to leave. Flee. And if she could make it out of the dining hall quickly, perhaps the Templars would deliver their punishment somewhere more private. She loathed the idea of looking stupid in front of the others. She didn't want to give the Fereldan apprentices a reason to mock her. Didier grew stiff and quiet as they walked by the Templar table on their way out. They seemed to resonate with a dangerous aura.

Lisette allowed the faintest smile of liberation to grace her lips as they stepped through the archway and into the hall. Which was the exact moment, of course, the Templar Cullen arrived for meal. Lisette stopped short, stuffing the urge to cling to Didier for help. It's not like he could do anything. She would be at the mercy of the First Enchanter. The Templar, oddly enough, looked as stricken as she felt. He became so entirely ridged, a light breeze would have knocked him over onto the flat of his back.

"Hello," Lisette said pointedly, staring at his toes.

The Templar said nothing, skirting around them with his nose up, as if she and Didier were standing in a garbage bin. Didier snorted softly, taking Lisette by the elbow and hurrying her along. She could understand his reaction. Templars at Verchiel did not eat in a common area with the mages. Templars were present at meals, of course, but not to eat. They watched. They were always watching. Precautions were taken to make sure Templars and mages rarely met in any way that could be construed as "social." A mage never saw a Templar with his helmet off. A Templar was never seen smiling or laughing. They had no sense of humor, no personality beyond "guardian." Perhaps the Orlesians understood better that total separation and alienation was preferable to pretending everyone could just be friends.

"Eating beside those brutes," Didier muttered. Lisette struggled to keep up with his long strides. "It's enough to drive one mad."

"Perhaps it will not be so strange… After a while."

Didier smiled a little. "I appreciate your optimism, ma bichette, and I will endeavor to share in it."

They lost their way twice, but a senior mage in the library was kind enough to show them the way to the training hall. It was a tall, open space with many bookshelves and tables scattered with research and open books. Lisette looked at the books with a sigh. Somewhere a Templar was examining her romances and deciding what to do with her. Maybe they would go easy on her. She did not dare to hope that the books would be returned. For a moment, Didier wandered on his own, gazing up at the ceiling-high shelves, marveling at the sheer volume of knowledge. He had probably read all of these books at one point in Orlesian, but seeing them again in this new tongue was inspiring. Even Lisette, who hated the coarseness of this language, could appreciate how majestic the books looked all lined up and on display, their spines lovingly cleaned and polished.

"Shall we begin?" Didier asked, striding to the opposite end of the hall.

Lisette nodded, anchoring her feet to the floor, preparing for the jolt of excitement that always preceded a lesson. She preferred Didier's method of instruction. He focused on practical spell-casting, convinced that more traditional read-read-practice-cast methods were stifling and inferior. Lisette knew enough of Tower politics to understand that this preference made him unpopular among the upper echelon of both Magi and Templars. He was the "reckless" teacher and Lisette his "reckless" pupil. It came as no surprise then, when they were chosen to leave the tower and go to Ferelden. Lisette could easily conjure the image of the First Enchanter's whiny old face, grinning in triumph as Lisette and Didier were shown from the Tower. It was as much a gift to the Fereldans as it was an eviction from Orlais.

Her heart stirred at this idea. They would never be welcomed back.

The air in the hall began to crackle and spit. Twin spires of lightning were winding up Didier's arms, flashing out at the shelves as they grew in power and intensity. He was giving her more notice than usual, perhaps because she was tired from the journey. Lisette did not hesitate to nurture her own attack, choosing fire instead. She was also careful to keep her guard up, ready to fling a shield over herself should Didier's lightning prove too quick.

She lived for this moment, this burst of feeling before the first blows rained. For now, the thought of her punishment was pushed far from her thoughts. Those problems became distant, unimportant. What mattered was Didier, his power, his desire to teach her. His presence was a comfort. They might never return to Verchiel, but at least they would be exiled together. She had never known another teacher who cared so much or who knew so many secrets. One day, she knew, all of his secrets would be hers.

The hall exploded with light and sound. Didier had flung his lightning, giving a boisterous shout of effort. Lisette timed her shield, wrapping the sparkling ring of energy around her middle as she sent her ball of flame soaring through the air. Didier deflected her spell with a flippant wave of his hand and returned another volley of lightning. She dodged, just barely, feeling the licking charges snap against her clothing. Dimly, she heard footsteps, but she would die before she let her concentration break. She gave a tremendous grunt, a ripple of razor sharp ice shards skating across the floor. Didier had to throw up a shield and jump to avoid them, allowing Lisette an opening as he regrouped. She whipped a ball of fire down the hall, cursing when Didier sidestepped and the flames sputtered out. The burst of air that slammed into her chest was unexpected. She hadn't anticipated the spell or its speed and she was knocked back on the floor.

Lisette cried out as her back connected with the stones. She was out of breath, panting, her chest aching slightly where the spell had hit her. The room shivered with the remnants of their magic, Didier's thunderous laugh just barely audible above the sound of her pounding heart. Her teacher stood over her, flushed with exertion, and helped her to her feet. He wrapped her in a tight, affectionate hug. Lisette brushed off her robes.

"A good showing, ma bichette, but next time don't let your guard down so easily."

"I won't."

She stood bent in half for a moment, trying to catch her breath. Didier patted her between the shoulders, still chuckling. He was always boisterous and excitable after a duel. Lisette felt it too, but chose to keep that jumpy sensation locked tight in her chest. It was exhilarating and familiar and something to hold on to.

"Oh," Didier muttered.

Lisette glanced in her teacher's direction, surprised to find they were not alone. She had heard the footsteps during the duel but assumed it was someone outside in the corridor. They had drawn an audience, apparently, the Templar Cullen among them. It was all Templars, in fact, watching silently behind those inscrutable helmets. Except for Cullen, of course, whose narrow brown eyes were lit with sudden flame. Lisette paled. This was it. They had come to drag her off.

"Can I help you?" Didier asked coldly. He inched forward, planting himself between Lisette and the Templars. They scattered, wandering off to stare at the wall or sharpen their swords or whatever. Except Cullen. He stood stock-still, wearing a pained expression, as if his boots had fused to the stones.

"Can I help you?" Didier asked again, a sharper edge to his voice.

"Ignore him," Lisette said breezily, forcing a smile she did not feel. "It's their job to watch us."

"This one isn't wearing his helmet," Didier observed, as if Cullen weren't standing in the room, perfectly sensible to every word they were saying. "It's… unsettling. I don't like to think of them having faces." If Cullen noticed the implicit threat in Didier's words, he did not react beyond a small tension in his jaw.

Where are my books? Why haven't you reported me? And why are you staring like that?

"I need to lie down," Lisette said suddenly. She walked briskly out of the hall, noticing - against her will - as she stepped around the Templar that he smelled faintly of the woods, moss maybe, or smoke, with just the tiniest hint of sweat underneath. It wasn't unpleasant, Lisette admitted, just unlike anything she had experienced before. Most Orlesian men wore heavy colognes that masked their natural scent. They never smelled so natural or so… so wild. She felt a dangerous frisson tighten her spine.

"Will you be at supper?" Didier called. Don't worry about me so much.

"Perhaps. I might just sleep."

"Classes start for you tomorrow," Didier added as she left. "Behave yourself."

Lisette smirked, out of sight of both Didier and the Templar. Yes, she certainly was doing a fantastic job of behaving so far – incensing a Templar by smuggling in dirty books, embarrassing herself at dinner and then drawing everyone's attention by having a vigorous duel with Didier. And somehow she had evaded punishment so far. Lisette made a silent pact to be better, to blend in. She didn't want to give these confounded Fereldans a reason to single her out. That's what had gotten her booted out of Verchiel in the first place. And the very, very last thing she needed was a handsome Templar who smelled like all that was freedom to take a shining to her and not report her misdeeds. What? Did he think she owed him now? Was that his plan? She would not rely on his kindness. She also did not expect that shining of his to last. If his strangled expression was any indication, the sight of her dueling with Didier was enough to make him wet his armor.

She returned to the dormitories with her head buzzing. The other apprentices would be done with classes soon. She wanted a bath, a long bath, before all sense of privacy was ripped away, never to be found again.

Lisette did not risk taking her precious book to the washrooms. It must now be treated like the holiest of relics. She waited until she was clean and fresh to dry off completely, comb out her long blonde hair, and crawl into bed. A beeswax candle had been set aside for her. She lit it with her fingertip, happy to find that the candles here were of good quality. At least they expected their apprentices to read and provided adequate materials for just that purpose. She decided that, since the Templar had remained utterly silent, he had not told anyone about her books. A strange and intriguing development, a development that made her feel slightly better about snuggling down to read from Le Chevalier. No one was coming to punish her. She would have a few blissful hours to herself before the dormitory was choked with brats. At least she would undergo the Harrowing soon. Certainly full-fledged mages were not expected to endure the company of children?

She would ask Didier about it tomorrow and make sure he talked to the First Enchanter about nailing down a day for her Harrowing.

Clean and almost content, Lisette sighed, her breath fluttering the pages. The knight touched her body all over, skimming his hard fingertips over her skin from toes to head, making her feel worshipped, loved. Even now when she could sense the power of his hunger for her, he took his time, foregoing urgency for love.

Lisette shuddered. The power of his hunger for her. Ooh, she liked that line. She read it over and over again until she had it memorized and filed away. She dog-eared the page. Though this was one of her favorite passages and she longed to read on, she was becoming drowsy, exhausted and road weary and drained from her duel. Her thoughts were thick, foggy as she tried in vain to keep her eyes open. At least she had the presence of mind to stuff the book beneath her pillow before she fell asleep, her head filled with worries and hopes and the curiously arousing smell of a deep, dark forest.