Three

Note: Thanks for the favorites and the (one awesome) review! Please leave a comment if you're enjoying the story or, you know, if you want to smack Cullen's cute armored bum. :)

*

But when a young lady is to be a heroine, the perverseness of forty surrounding families cannot prevent her. Something must and will happen to throw a hero in her way.

-Jane Austen

*

Cullen reported to the Knight-Commander's office the next morning with a thick and hazy head. He had slept even less than usual, plagued by the illegal books hidden under his cot. When midnight rolled around and he still hadn't managed to even close his eyes properly, he moved the stack of books to his armoire. Cullen trooped back to bed, sliding through the sliver of moonlight on his floor, satisfied that the problem had been solved. But then he felt worse, vulnerable. At least if the books were near him, then he could properly guard them. He got up again and locked his door for the first time ever. Feeling like a common criminal, he skulked to the dresser, took up the books and brought them back to the space beneath his bed. As he knelt to shove them out of sight, the pages fluttered, a puff of scent wafting out toward him.

It hit him right in the pit of his stomach. He didn't have words for it. Gardenia? No. Vanilla? No. Something far more feminine and exotic and… Maker… Intoxicating.

Cullen spent the rest of the night forgetting that smell. He was a man of discipline and intelligence. He could forget a smell if it damn well took the entire night. Under no circumstances would he touch those books again unless it be to burn them and never, never again would he allow himself to indulge in that heavenly, disarming scent.

And what did curiosity do to the cat, Cullen? It didn't slap the cat on the wrist, no, it killed the cat. Killed it.

Sobered, Cullen nevertheless spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, willing it to collapse and kill him and destroy forever the temptations poisoning his will.

"Cullen, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Cullen jolted awake. Greagoir was staring at him. The office felt tiny, like a tissue box Cullen had been forcibly stuffed into. Oh Maker, how had Greagoir, of all fucking people, found out? Had Alice overheard them in the dormitory? No, that wasn't possible. But how else would Greagoir know about the mage's books? This was torment. This was living outside of the Maker's gaze.

Cullen found his voice at the bottom of a murky well. "I'm… I'm not sure what you…"

"Apprentice Lisette and that fool mentor of hers dueling without supervision in the training hall – ring a bell? Thompson tells me you were there. You saw this. You didn't think it prudent to report back to me?"

Relief so potent it made him want to weep flooded his body. He flicked his eyes skyward in silent thanks to the Maker for getting him out of that one.

"Oh! Ser, I… I thought since it was so loud that everyone knew…"

"Everyone does know, but I expect to know first. That's your job, Cullen, to tell me these things so I'm not blindsided by Irving!" Greagoir slammed his armored fist onto the table. Cullen jerked, as if Greagoir's fist had connected with his breastplate and not the desk. Cullen didn't know what to say, so he blurted out his usual placeholder, "Forgive me, Knight-Commander."

Greagoir was silent. Seething.

"Everything is so… uncertain. I just need you on top of your game, Cullen, is that understood?"

"Of course, ser. It won't happen again, ser."

Greagoir nodded, waving the tips of his fingers. "Just… Watch them, Cullen. From what Thompson tells me her powers are… significant."

"I will not let them out of my sight," Cullen said, wishing he had phrased it better.

"Good. Dismissed."

Cullen shut the door behind him, making a fist that he wanted to smash against his own face. This was not the path to glory. He had lied to the Knight-Commander. Even then, the books hidden beneath his cot burned in his mind's eye. Now he had promised to keep a close eye on the mage girl and that was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to do his duty, to be a paragon of truth and honesty, but purposely hanging around this Lisette woman seemed like the fastest way to purgatory.

It was early spring, mild and by all accounts cool outside, so why was he so hot all the time? Cullen yanked at the neck of his breastplate. Something nagged. Maybe it was Greagoir's tone, the way he said "watch them" like he was expecting another uprising. There was a good chance the Knight-Commander knew more about these Orlesians than he was letting on. They could have a reputation. A bad one. Cullen hurried his steps. There was no time to be lost. He needed to pray and eat and then find the Orlesian girl and make certain she behaved. He didn't know whether to watch her or the tutor – perhaps the man posed a greater threat. Cullen could believe that wholeheartedly. His blood curdled at the memory of that shocking, deafening duel.

Cullen had watched Lisette crash onto the floor. He even heard her back give a disheartening crack. But she got up and then that man, that man that was much too old to touch her, wrapped his arms around and… Cullen sighed, so exasperated with himself he wanted to spend the rest of the day in the chapel, praying, cleansing himself. Right, because you're just the right age for her. No, he was not any age for her at all. But that Didier fellow was unusually familiar. He's her tutor, idiot, he's probably known her for years. Still, that didn't mean it was appropriate for a man of Didier's age to hug a mere apprentice. That sort of business was strictly forbidden in the Circle Tower. Are you huffing and puffing because he acted inappropriately or because he acted inappropriately and he's uncommonly handsome?

The Circle Tower wasn't impervious to scandal. Cullen had heard of older mages taking advantage of apprentices, lulling them into a sense of complacency and trust and then pushing them into… forbidden relations. The rules against that kind of thing weren't Templar rules, they were Circle rules. Still, it happened. Anything could happen. Nobody was totally immune to lust, not mages or Templars. Or you.

Yes, I am. I don't have those thoughts.

Anymore, you mean.

No. Never.

Cullen dug his fingernails into his palms. This was not the way one started a productive, pious day. It didn't help, either, that Cullen couldn't stop thinking about the thing Didier had called her. Maybe Cullen's ears were malfunctioning, but he could've sworn he called Lisette a bitch. To her face. And she had smiled. It didn't make any sense. Maybe it was an Orlesian thing. Maybe bitch meant "chaste pupil" and not what Cullen understood it to mean. Female. Dog. In heat. Stop that. Or perhaps Didier's accent had obscured the real word and Cullen was jumping to ridiculous conclusions. Which wouldn't be the first time…

Distracted, Cullen wasn't expecting to round the corner outside of Greagoir's office and run headlong into a familiar face. He leapt back.

"I know you," the woman said at once, her face breaking into a smile, "It's Cullen, isn't it?"

"And you are… Wynne?" Cullen asked breathlessly. "You… were there, when the Tower fell." He paused and then chuckled, unexplainably relieved to see her. They had never been close, but any familiar face was a comfort. "With the Grey Wardens."

"That's the most enthusiastic welcome I've gotten so far," Wynne said with a glittering laugh. "Well, Irving cried, but you're the second best welcome."

Cullen was shocked to find himself in her arms. He hugged her back. Why did humans laugh when they were nervous or surprised? Strange. He steadied himself and remembered that he was a Templar. Straightening up, he cleared his throat and regained his neutrality. Wynne was dressed in red from head to toe, her white hair pulled back into a clean, severe ponytail. She was flushed, either from the stairs or excitement, Cullen couldn't say.

"You've come back," he said.

"Irving has recalled all the Circle mages abroad. I suppose he wanted a few old faces around," Wynne replied. She covered her mouth, blushing. "Did I say old? I meant… wise."

"You're meaning is clear enough," Cullen said good-naturedly, indulging in a smile. "The Knight-Commander will be pleased to see another Fereldan among us."

Us. No, not us. Among the mages.

"I doubt he will be excited as all that," Wynne replied. "But I should make my respects."

Wynne took a few steps toward Greagoir's office and stopped, turning to look at Cullen over her shoulder. "It is good to see you."

"And you," Cullen replied truthfully. Then his nagging thoughts returned and he coughed. "Could you… Would you mind keeping an eye on an apprentice... Now that you're back, I mean."

Wynne's eyes narrowed. "An apprentice?"

"She's new and…" And heartbreaking in every way... "And from Orlais. The Knight-Commander is worried that she might be… well… prone to mishaps. I promised to be vigilant, as always, but a mage's understanding wouldn't hurt."

"I see," Wynne said cryptically. Cullen decided he was imagining the flash of mischief in her eyes. "And her name?"

"Lisette," Cullen choked. "Her name is Lisette."

Funny he should mention her. Not two hours later he stumbled upon the Orlesian mage in the library on his midmorning round. Some of the older apprentices were allowed a free period between classes to study or rest. She had chosen to take hers in the library, apparently. Only Templars and senior mages populated the library during class time hours. Most of the apprentices with free time fled to their bunks, catching a nap or doing anything at all that didn't involve books. But there she was, sitting at one of the long, narrow tables, a stack of books piled before her. He didn't need to see her face. He recognized the deep, cobalt velvet of her robe and the unique color of her pale blonde hair. She was also the only apprentice in the library… No… the only person in the library. Maybe she had come exactly because it was empty and quiet.

This was bad. Dangerous. The word forbidden flashed in front of his eyes like a wall of fire.

Cullen stood flattened against the wall just inside the door. A Templar waited just outside. Apparently that Templar hadn't deemed it necessary to follow Lisette inside and watch her. Which was probably fine, since she seemed absorbed in her reading anyway. So Cullen didn't make a sound, which he was exceptionally good at, letting his eyes wander over her shoulder to the book she was reading. The air smelled like dust, with the tiniest undercurrent of mold. And something else, something extra. Even at that distance he recognized her perfume… And yet she didn't reek of lavender and rose like the other Orlesians, who more or less bathed in rich, scented oils. It was the same perfume he had detected on her books. Dry and floral and delicate. He swallowed a humiliated groan.

Strong in the Maker, purified in His light, strong in the Maker, purified in his Light…

But something was wrong. The way the book looked in her hands… It was all wrong. There was a giant encyclopedia pinched in her fingers, and inside that, a smaller book, something with yellowed pages and floppy corners where someone had been dog-earring… Impossible. She was smarter than that. This was the oldest, lamest trick in the book…

Stunned, Cullen released a long, shuddering breath. Lisette wasn't studying at all. He caught the title of the chapter as she flipped the page with wetted fingertips. Either he had failed to confiscate all of Lisette's banned materials or the Circle Tower library was now carrying books that had chapter titles like La Puissance de Leur Sexe.

Sexe.

Sex.

One didn't need to be fluent in Orlesian to get the stomach-churning gist of such a title, or to interpret the accompanying illustration of a man and a naked woman in the deepest throes of lurid passion.

* * *

It was made perfectly clear from day one that Lisette was not welcome. While the teachers were split almost evenly between Fereldans and Orlesians, the apprentices were all local, and they hated her. They stared. No, they gaped. From the moment she woke, cold and exhausted, to the second she walked into her first class, the Fereldans did an amazing job of making her feel like an ogre. They whispered about her clothes and her hair. They pointed at her funny walk. They giggled when she scraped around for the right words in class... And they hated most of all that she was a finer mage than all of them put together.

Really, she shouldn't have been in class with them at all. Lisette sat through the most mundane explanations of spells she had learned and mastered years ago. And then the idiotic teachers called on her because she was knew and wanted to include her, so she fired off the spell with no hesitation at all, making her classmates hate her even more. At least the teachers loved her.

It wasn't until third period, when she was about to give up altogether out of embarrassment and despair, that she realized how much she missed Verchiel. Lisette had never made many friends. She was solitary and contrary by nature. But she had two close friends, two other students that, like her, excelled without even trying. Lisette wished this power made her somehow more affable and likeable, but it didn't. Nobody liked a show-off. She resented her own abilities, the fluidity with which magic came to her. But Giselle and Henri were like her. They too mastered spells with minimal effort and an abundance of instinct. Didier dubbed them Les Enfants de Jean-Georges. This was a subtle nod to Jean-Georges Fleuret, the greatest mage ever to rise to power in Orlais. He was a legend among mages, a man who had not only become First Enchanter, but an invaluable advisor to the then emperor, Charles.

Nobody before or since had made such an impact on the hearts and minds of Orlesian mages.

It was probably just a silly game, but Didier claimed that he saw that same kind of magnetic power in Lisette, Giselle and Henri. Mostly in Lisette. But that didn't stop the three apprentices from being inseparable. Giselle with her slew of troublesome boyfriends and Henri with his insane knack for thievery… They were quite the force to be reckoned with. And it was easy to misbehave when the Templars were faceless and silent. It was like going against the word of a statue. Who cared? Which was why they got into so many little scrapes, and why they continued time and time again to pull of hilarious capers. Once, Henri even managed to steal a bottle of wine from one of the senior enchanters' office. They drank it to drunkenness, which happened so fast they couldn't believe it. They were easily caught the next morning, when they all showed up to class late, painfully hung over.

By fourth period it became blatantly apparent that, while the apprentices disliked Lisette, their dislike did not extend to all Orlesians. The girls especially found Master Didier's class most instructive. She heard more than one try to call him "Monsieur," their accents as faltering as their magic skills. It was acid in her ears. Don't attempt my language if you're determined to murder it…

Lisette frowned at them all, disgusted.

…Also don't flirt with my master. Remember that breathtaking fire spell I pulled off last period? It wouldn't be so very hard to toss one of those in your bedclothes tonight… I hear insufferable sluts burn as fast as kindling...

She did not look forward to the next morning. She had a bet riding (against herself) that she would wake with at least one toad hopping up her sheets. Lisette smiled at this idea as she left fourth period and wordlessly padded toward the library. The girls at Verchiel had attempted far worse. The teasing there was nonstop. She was a freak. Freak, freak, freak! And they never let her forget it. One morning she woke up with pink hair. Another? Popping boils over every inch of her skin. These Fereldan girls were catty, but she didn't for a moment think they could sink to the level of outright evil the Orlesian girls managed.

Lisette found the library with a little help from a bewildered-looking Templar. Through the slit of his helmet, she saw a pair of very fine and incredibly flabbergasted green eyes. When she asked his name, he simply said, "Bryce." He gave her thorough instructions and she found the library without further trouble. There was no one there except for a hunched old Fereldan enchanter, who soon left with one specific book clutched under her crooked arm.

There was something magical about libraries. Not magical like she was magical, but in the more mundane sense of the word. It was alright to be silent and alone in a library, it was acceptable to be standoffish and separate. You didn't need an excuse to be quiet or to mind your own business – you could just sink into the books and forget everything else. When the teasing and staring became too much at Verchiel, she went to the library. It was only day two and Lisette was realizing that pattern would repeat itself. Wherever you go, there you are.

And then, you'll always be a freak.

Stifling the urge to scream at the injustice of the world, Lisette went to the shelves and picked out the biggest, fattest book she could find. She didn't bother glancing at the title, retreating to one of the tables to set down her bag and settle in for a good, long read. Glancing around, Lisette found that the Templars here were either stupid or sloppy. There was one there, of course, but he was outside the door. Maybe he didn't think one little apprentice could get up to no good. Lisette would teach him. She delved into her bag and pulled out Le Chevalier. It was just a matter of leaning back in the chair, propping up her knees against the table ledge and settling the encyclopedia in her lap. Then she could hide Le Chevalier inside without anyone catching wise. As long as they stayed out in the hall, Lisette could enjoy her book freely.

And she did, for approximately forty-five minutes. She was nearing the end of the book when she heard a bizarre choking sound. Lisette cursed her stupidity. She had let herself get too engrossed in the story. The knight was trying desperately to regain his lady's trust after she discovered him paying respects to another woman during a dance. It was all a misunderstanding, of course, but the story was gripping. The knight was explaining in words tinged with yearning about the power of their love, and how the night they had spent together proved the power of their sexual connection…

Did you not feel it, my lady? Our bodies met and the world collapsed, yet we emerged, unscathed.

It was passionate, riveting… And altogether too distracting.

Lisette turned her head but a little, and noticed a curious shadow smeared against the wall behind her. It was the Templar Cullen. Blast it. He had found her. He had a nose for naughtiness, it would appear. Lisette snapped the encyclopedia shut, trapping Le Chevalier safely inside. Just try and get this book out of my hands, you prying cad.

She tucked the encyclopedia under her arm and sat up, pushing away from the table. Lisette rearranged her robes and picked up her bag. It would be suspicious to try and walk out with the encyclopedia hidden away. It was better to make sure the Templars saw her leaving with it. That way, she could insist that she was simply borrowing a book for her studies, which all the other apprentices did daily anyway…

Lisette's slippered right foot was halfway out the door when she heard the Templar clear his throat significantly.

She stopped, cold, and turned to face him.

"Yes?" she asked casually. "Something you need?"

"That book," he said softly, "May I see it?"

Lisette inspected his calculating brown eyes, the grim determination of his lips… The enchanting little mole on his right cheek… Fool, you're not supposed to inspect that. Lisette cleared her own throat, and raised her chin imperiously. She had lost this fight once, she would not lose again. The Templar looked nervous anyway. He probably didn't have the authority to check her library books. Lisette glanced at the glimmering, enormous sword at his side. Scratch that, he had all the authority in the world. Then her mind wandered to the phrase "enormous sword" and she blushed. That gave her an idea. There had to be a way out of this. He was a Templar. That was the key, she was sure of it.

"You may," she said coquettishly, in response to his question. She fluttered her eyelashes. "But only if you let me show you."

The Templar stiffened until his jaw looked ready to explode, his chestnut brown eyes wavered, suddenly unsure. Busted. "I… Show me?"

These Templars were all pitiful virgins. Not that Lisette had made the beast with two backs herself, but the mere mention of sex sent Templars running and screaming as if their hair was full of spiders. Lisette was the sort of virgin that could at least discuss sex. The books helped. Since Verchiel Templars never spoke or even thought, Lisette couldn't employ this kind of trickery. Perhaps life here wouldn't be so bad after all. She sidled up to Cullen, making sure not to inhale. She didn't want to get sidetracked by his woodsy smell. But even through his armor, she could detect a tiny radiation of warmth. Hot, are we?

Lisette cracked the encyclopedia. As she intended, it fell open to Le Chevalier.

"Yes," she murmured, "show you."

The Templar swallowed. Noisily. This was too fun. And too easy.

"Would you like to sit down with me?" Lisette asked.

"No," he replied hoarsely, "This is preferable, mademoiselle."

Well, hello. So he had managed to get that word out without collapsing into a pile of sodden bones. How nice for him. His stutter seemed to have disappeared, too. Better and better… Or perhaps a sign that he was feeling more confident. Regardless…

"Do you know the story of Le Chevalier?" Lisette inquired softly, moving a hair's breadth closer. She heard, felt, his sharp intake of breath.

"I do not."

"Would you like to hear it?"

"No."

"Are… Are you quite certain?"

"Incredibly certain."

Lisette paused. Phooey. Still, all was not lost. She flipped to one of the dog-eared pages. Even she had to give a little sigh of excitement. There was the knight, his armor in pieces at his feet, his sheer tunic the only barrier between the knight and his lover. Said lover was wound around him, one thigh hitched around his hips, her head thrown back as she accepted the heat of his kiss upon her throat. Lisette brushed her fingertip across the place where the knight's hand covered the woman's bare breast. The Templar's throat dipped in instantaneous response. The heat radiating off his armor intensified noticeably. Lisette took this as a good sign.

"They're lovers," she said simply. This felt less like a trick now and more like legitimate flirting. Bad. Lisette looked up at him, surprised by his height, and reeled a little when his eyes meet hers. She wondered if he too felt the scorching shiver that raced up her spine. When their eyes met… Lisette refused to consider it. Templar. Watcher. Statue. Killer.

"I have to confiscate this," the Templar said, his voice thick with… authority? Regret? Desire?

"You can't," Lisette whispered, horrified that her plan had backfired. No! Not Le Chevalier, too, not her last precious book. He had already stolen everything from her. The bastard, the villain. It was her tether, her anchor… No. The walls and shelves of the library seemed to close in around her. "You can't."

"I must."

Lisette stumbled away from him. She clutched the encyclopedia to her chest with both hands. It was warm against her, as if alive. Mine, she thought, mine and nobody can take it from me. These are my dreams, my dreams…

"No."

"Please," he said in a rasping whisper, "Just hand it to me."

With blurry eyes, Lisette watched his right arm cross his body, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Yes, kill me. Do it. It couldn't hurt any worse than this. I have nothing left. Nothing left of home… But he did not draw his weapon. Instead, the Templar took a giant step toward her. She smelled him. She didn't mean to, but his presence was wrapping around her. Leaves, wet earth, pine… His hand extended, silver metal fingers closing around the top of the encyclopedia. He tugged once, hard, wrenching it out of her grasp.

Lisette felt one hot tear course down her cheek.

"I hate you," she whispered, finding her voice and fleeing the library. "I hate you."