Chapter Three
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Authors Note: For those of you who missed the note in my Planet 51 story, I had some computer trouble and lost all the work I had done on this story. I needed to take a break and regroup, so I've been working on some other things, but now I'm ready to go again! How you enjoy, and please remember to review – it's what we authors live for.
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The cleaning and repair of the Tower went very smoothly now that Ser Otto was helping the remaining Templars and mages. He was easily able to identify that dark nooks and cranny's that still contained the small demons, and they were able to quickly eliminate them. One particular darkness bothered him as he traced it, moving around the tower from place to place. It was following them, but not the mages, he was shocked to realize. It followed the Templars. He resolved to scent it out, wherever it may be.
He pretended not to hear the whispers around him. They wondered at how he could sense the evil, how he new it was there. A few cruel voices wondered how he could still be a Templar, when he couldn't even see. He asked Andraste for her grace, to allow him to accept them for who they were as he accepted himself. The were all children of the Maker, and the Maker would bestow challenges as he saw fit.
And was he any better?
At night, he thought of nothing but Bronwyn. Her demeanor, the sound of her voice, the feel of her small hands on his, it could not leave him. Maker help him, he even fixated on her smell, inhaling deeply and remembering the aura around her. Pure and good, if tinged with a bit of darkness. That smell, it made him uncomfortably warm and needy.
It felt like a betrayal of his vows, the way she held in his mind, and the darkness seemed to consume him.
Challenges. Sometimes, it seemed that was all the Maker had in store for him. In the darkness, he prayed for the strength to resist her. He had heard stories of her bravery, her goodness. Saving the mages, the Arl of Redcliffe. Bringing peace to the Dwarves in Orzammar. Even the Dalish had her to thank for freeing their warriors from a terrible affliction. It was because of this that he loved her, and because of this that he would never be good enough for her.
And why should it matter, when he had given his vows to the Maker? He could never be with her, even if she would have him.
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"You're sure of this?"
Otto nodded. "I would never have brought this to you, if I wasn't sure."
"A demon?"
"Not in the sense you mean it." He lowered his voice, sadness coloring the timbre. "The boy will never fully recover from his time in that cage. He was tortured, Greagoir. More than we've been told, I think. The pain of it, and his mistrust and blame of innocents, will only grow here."
"The Warden said he was the only one who survived. A strong soul. I had hoped..."
Otto pushed thoughts of Bronwyn out of hismind. "He will lash out against the remaining mages, I'm sure of it. The question is when."
Greagoir sighed. "We should send him away, to the country, once the Blight is over. With no mages about to anger him, he will begin to heal."
"Yes. Perhaps. For now, I would recommend keeping him isolated and away from any mages. The sense that he is losing control is strongest around them."
"Thank you for bringing this to me, Otto. I'll take action on the morrow. For now, it is time for the evening meal. Come, accompany me to the meal hall. You need rest as much as any of us, dear friend."
"Of course."
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After dinner, he found himself wandering the corridors. This floor was cleared, he was sure of it. But he followed the voice that told him to keep going, to search. It lead him to the apprentice dormitory, where he heard raised voices.
"No, Ser, no" came a young woman's voice, raised in fright, "I wasn't- I didn't- It's for protection only, not-" She shrieked and Otto heard the sound of flesh striking flesh. He ran forward.
"Mages don't need knives for protection!" It was Cullen, his voice harsh and accusatory. "This is for use in your magic! You're a blood mage!"
"I'm not, I-"
"Stop lying, you bitch!"
He entered the room, hearing the Templar strike her again. She fell to the floor with a thud. "Ser Cullen!" he shouted, "Control yourself!"
"But this maleficar was-"
"She is not a maleficar, Cullen," he said, helping the apprentice to her feet. He interposed himself between the child and his angry colleague. "She is a scared little girl, and you are the source of her terror."
"But, Ser, the knife-"
"Let me see."
He held out his hand and the cool handle was placed there. Feeling along the length, he tried to sense anything dark about the weapon, but found only positive energy. It was a hunting knife, with a rough hewn stag-horn handle.
With a start, he realized who the apprentice was. Almost a decade ago, right before he had lost his eyesight, he'd been sent to a little village just outside the Brecilian forest to collect a small girl who had shown signs. It had been a tearful goodbye, her parents reluctant to release the tiny, dark haired one into the Templar's custody. He had applauded the love he saw there, though he knew they must be parted for her own good.
"This was a gift from her father," he said quietly, holding the blade with reverence. "A tool he hand made himself, given to her so she could remember how much she was loved. Here, Samira."
"T-thank you, Ser," she stuttered, weeping quietly. The sound echoed in the empty room.
Cullen cleared his throat. "I'm...sorry. I didn't know." He sounded ashamed and horrified.
"Come, young one, go find your mentor. No one will question your knife again."
She uttered another quiet thanks, and then fled the room, her quick footsteps ringing around him. He turned in the direction he believed his brother in arms was. "Ser Cullen, you need to speak with Greagoir."
"I don't know what's wrong with me," he said miserably. "I was so sure she was an abomination... I..."
"You need time to heal," Otto said quietly. "You've been through much, and had little time to process it. We'll speak to Greagoir. He'll know what to do."
"What if I had-" He cut himself off, unable to finish.
Otto was touched by the remorse he heard. Here was a good man, corrupted by an evil spirit. He must be helped to reclaim his compassion, his wisdom, his mercy. "Come." He took Cullen's arm and lead him to the Knight Commander's office.