Dragon 9:31, Cloudreach 21

Cullen


Cullen paused when the woman took off at a sprint.

Holy Andraste… do I smell that bad?

"Hey! Halt!" He spurred his tired legs into action and chased after her.

He'd seen her standing in the middle of the courtyard, staring up at the towers. It had struck him as odd—the Gallows didn't exactly attract many visitors. What had started off as idle curiosity had turned to suspicion once she fled. More likely than not, she was a petty thief. If was the case, he would take back whatever she'd stolen and let her go with a stern reprimand—the baubles sold in the Gallows were hardly worth a day in the holding cells. However, he'd learned through experience that it was best to be over-cautious. Better to get to the bottom of this now than risk escalating the situation.

Cullen was steadily gaining on the girl, his long legs easily eating up the distance between them. As she slipped around a corner, Cullen shook his head. She was heading straight for a dead end. He approached the corner to prevent her from slipping past and prolonging the chase when he heard her shout of alarm. Concerned that she'd run into a lone bandit or mercenary who skulked around the Gallows, Cullen turned into the alley and put on an extra spurt of speed. Too late, he realized that she'd already come to a standstill. He dug his heels into the ground, but his momentum carried his weight straight into her.

They crashed to the ground, and Cullen instinctively put his arms around her and turned to catch most of the impact on his shoulder. His weight combined with his plate armor was liable to crush her before he could interrogate her. As soon as his head cleared, he hastily disentangled himself and pulled away. The woman pushed herself up from facedown on the ground. She knelt away from him and started coughing.

Cullen felt a wave of guilt wash over him. She had run from him, but it had been obvious from the start that he was much faster than she was. Barreling into her at full speed likely hadn't endeared him to her. "Um, are you all right, serah?"

"What in the void did you tackle me for?" she hissed. She rubbed her temples and then turned, fixing him with a piercing stare.

Cullen forgot his carefully prepared reply the moment he caught sight of her face. For the last year, he'd been praying for the strength to forget Solona Amell. He'd locked her bracelet away, practiced in the training yard until his palms blistered, and gone to every chantry service his scheduled allowed him to attend. The popular saying was right: the Maker truly did have a sense of humor. What other explanation could there be for Solona's face haunting him once again? Granted, he'd never seen Solona's face lit up with quite as much ire as this woman's.

Except… it wasn't an exact match. This woman was more angular, her sharp cheekbones emphasized by the choppy cut of her black tresses. And her eyes… Cullen grudgingly thanked the Maker that at least those weren't the brilliant blue that he remembered all too well. Those stormy grey orbs had fixed him with a look of utmost loathing. With a start, Cullen remembered why he'd chased after this woman in the first place. "I do apologize for running into you. Nevertheless, I asked you a very simple question in the courtyard. But you ran. Why?" Cullen knew that his face was a mask devoid of expression—it was something he'd practiced ever since moving to Kirkwall. "What exactly are you doing in the Gallows?"

She had the nerve to smirk at him. "Sightseeing."

Cullen raised a brow. "Sightseeing… what?"

The woman rose to her feet and brushed off her knees. "Oh, you know… chains, statues, depression, oppression… maybe a little bit of suppression. Just a whole bunch of 'pressions." She shrugged. "You know, all the trademarks of a thriving tourist destination."

Cullen stood silent, completely baffled. He had no idea what to make of her. "The Gallows… you… a tourist destination?" Sweet Maker, I haven't babbled like this since my first days as a templar.

She nodded and her face transformed into the picture of wide-eyed innocence. "Oh, yes. Quite a lovely view of the sea from here. Fresh air, sheer cliffs, vultures circling nearby…" She heaved a dramatic sigh. "You can almost hear the screams of the past slaves, don't you think? Makes for a fantastic afternoon."

"Well… indeed?" Cullen shook his head and forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand. "You can't honestly expect me to believe that you're here taking in the scenery."

Her lips twisted. "And here I thought I'd be able to convince you of just about anything. Pity."

Cullen's frown deepened, but he chose to ignore her insult. "Running without the slightest provocation looks suspicious."

"Maybe I was trying to talk myself into going for a jog, and you gave me the motivation I needed to start?"

Cullen sighed. "I've dealt with a large number of petty criminals since I joined the Kirkwall templars, and I recognize the signs. If you return what it is you've stolen right now, I'll simply file a report and allow you to return home."

Shock flashed across her face. "You think I'm a thief?"

It was evident from her reaction that she certainly wasn't. "Can you blame me? Why else would you run from authority?"

She averted her eyes. She may not have committed any crime that Cullen could tell, but he was certain that she was hiding something.

"You startled me, that's all."

Cullen repressed the urge to roll his eyes. "And being startled warrants fleeing?"

"Possibly." She scowled up at him again. "Do the templars here usually run after innocent women and knock them to the ground?"

Maker, give me the patience to deal with this like the professional I am. "Again, I apologize for that, serah," Cullen said through gritted teeth. "The truth this time, if you don't mind. If you refuse, I'll take you to the knight-commander on principle."

She crossed her arms, the perfect image of a petulant child. "Fine. Morbid curiosity. That's all."

Cullen cocked his head. "Curiosity? About what, may I ask?"

"The circle tower, the Gallows itself… everything," she said, gesturing wildly with her hands. "I've heard so many stories about the things that've happened here—the widespread slavery, the torture, the daily executions—I've only been to the Gallows once, and I wanted to come back and look around a bit."

Cullen stilled, recognizing the distinct lilt in her pronunciations. How hadn't he noticed it before? "You're Ferelden, aren't you?"

"Yes, my family came to Kirkwall to escape the Blight, same as hundreds of others. What of it? So are you, if I'm not mistaken."

It made sense. Cullen's first few days in Kirkwall had been a blur of activity and desperation for him. He'd wanted so badly to forget what he'd left behind in Ferelden that he'd hardly noticed any of his surroundings. After the first weeks, though, he finally paid attention to the stories and had read up on the macabre history of the area. Most of the refugees cared little about the past, all they wanted was a new future away from the darkspawn. "I am Ferelden, yes. I transferred from the circle there. It's likely that I arrived here around the same time as you." He tightened his lips, pushing back the memories of those horrific weeks of imprisonment and torture. "What is your name?"

For the first time, a wry smile touched her lips. "I go by Hawke, but my mother would prefer we go by her family name, Amell."

Cullen's chest constricted. Could it be? The resemblance this woman—this Hawke—bore to Solona was more than simple coincidence. His breath hitched, his heart slamming against his ribs as he struggled to maintain an impassive mask. "Amell?" Had his voice broken? He cleared his throat and fought not to choke on her name. "I-I knew an Amell once…" He forced his pulse to slow. "She was a…special woman. I've never met another like her." He whispered the last words, more to himself than Hawke—because to him, she was Hawke. He glanced up in time to watch her eyes turn icy.

"You knew an Amell once, did you? Well, let me tell you something: I knew a templar, once, too." Her eyes narrowed with anger and something else… pain, perhaps? "And he was a complete prat."

Cullen's wistful remembrance of Solona burned away in the face of Hawke's ire. "I take it you don't care much for the Templar Order?"

She barked out a laugh.

"Why?" He wondered what had happened to make Hawke dislike the order so ardently. Had the templar she'd known scorned her, perhaps? It wasn't unheard of to leave behind loved ones when joining the order. Perhaps she'd been a victim of such an event. "Surely you wouldn't base your opinion of all of us on the actions of one man?"

"Listen, Ser Whatever-Your-Name-Is, as far as I'm concerned, the word 'templar' is synonymous with 'murderer'," she spat.

"What?" Cullen was thunderstruck. There were those who resented the templars—usually families of mages who were taken away for training—but to be accused of murder? In all his experience, he'd never seen the order turn to violence unless they were provoked or threatened. "I don't understand—"

"Oh, sorry," she interrupted. "You see, 'synonymous' means—"

"I know what it means!" he snapped. His irritation deepened at the look of satisfaction on her face. Maker's breath, she might bear a striking resemblance to Solona, yes, but the two of them couldn't be more different. "Templars are not murderers."

"Mm. Whatever helps you sleep at night," she replied noncommittally. "Now, if you don't mind, I should probably be off. My mother is expecting me home in time for dinner."

Cullen slowed his breathing with effort. "Very well, serah Hawke. Safe travels." He was eager for her to leave. She was no criminal, as far as he could tell, but her words were more deadly than a poisoned blade.

She laughed, and Cullen clenched his jaw against the tick of anger that jumped. "You templars—you're all so predictable. I know exactly how frustrated you are with me, but that training clicks in—" She snapped her fingers, "—and you're back to a picture-perfect, Maker-praising soldier." She leaned in and whispered, as though he was a trusted confidante and whispered, "You know, if you want to tell me to sod off, it would really be okay."

Cullen's nostrils flared, but he kept his temper in check. He was the knight-captain of Kirkwall, for Maker's sake, and he refused to give some slip of a girl the satisfaction of seeing him lose his cool. "Have a good evening, serah."

She grinned at him slyly before turning and striding back toward the docks. Cullen watched her until she was out of sight, then crumbled against a wall and released the growl of frustration that had been steadily building since she'd first opened her accursed mouth. He readjusted the sword strapped to his back and marched in the direction of the practice yard.

He needed to hit something. Hard.


A/N: Thank you so much to Jaden Anderson for betaing this chapter, and to my reviewers: KuraNova, Loverofallfiction, Marlene101, kiley0990, Candle in the Night, and wintryone.