Bethany may have been a mage, but she was also a Grey Warden, and she knew how to truss up a grown man when she needed to. Granted, the templar was remarkably heavy and it had taken her a few tries to drag him into the chair, but she managed it well enough to bind his wrists and ankles to the sturdy piece of furniture. She stood in front of him and allowed herself a triumphant moment before slapping him hard across the face.
The recruit sputtered awake with a dazed moan. His eyes cast about in vague confusion before landing on her face, where they lingered with a curiously tender expression that suddenly changed to panic. "You tied me up!" he exclaimed indignantly. He unwisely thrashed against his bonds and she suppressed a laugh at the grimace of pain that followed. "Sweet Maker, and I thought my head hurt before."
Bethany smoothed down the rough blankets on the cot and sat down. She draped one casually threatening hand over the staff in her lap. The faintest hint of a smile played on her lips, but her gaze was hard. "Next time you won't be so quick to assume all mages are as defenseless as the ones you keep chained up in that tower."
"Kept," he corrected her, his voice strangely flat. She remained alert, halfway expecting him to try to break the bonds; he was clearly well-muscled and there was a chance he might actually succeed. Besides, when did templars ever give anything up? She'd heard stories of them tracking apostates for leagues, dangling the little phylactery in front of themselves like a carrot on a string.
But he made no attempt to free himself. In fact, the way he slumped in the chair, his head bowed, almost seemed as though he had accepted it. Deserved it, even.
Well, she thought. He does.
His gaze slipped away from hers and she regarded him carefully. He wasn't bad-looking, under all that sweat and grime. His straw-colored hair was long and tousled, with curls that flopped over his ears and brow when his head moved. He needed a shave, but his jaw was strong and his eyes the color of caramel. And in the plain, simple clothing he wore it was clear that Stroud had not been exaggerating the man's strength. He had the broad, hard frame of a man who had worn heavy armor every day for ten years.
Something suddenly tugged at her, something about his features that seemed vaguely familiar.
"You're from Kirkwall, aren't you?" she asked, leaning forward. "I remember your face." It had been a lifetime ago, but she still knew the faces of every templar in Kirkwall. And Lothering, for that matter. What a talent, she sighed to herself. Bethany Hawke's legacy to the apostates of the world. A list of people to run away from.
The recruit lifted his head to meet her gaze. His eyes seemed calmer than before, less crazed, but he was clearly still struggling to maintain control. "My name is Cullen," he said with a nod. "I was the Knight-Captain in Kirkwall before… well, before."
Bethany didn't need him to finish that thought. She was well aware of the fantastic cock-up her sister had made of that whole situation, but then again, what were the Hawke girls if not destructive?
"You called me Amell," she said. "Did you know my Uncle Gamlen?" That had to be it, unless her late mother had been up to something she preferred not to think about.
He looked back at her intently for a moment and she found herself wanting to squirm under the intensity of his gaze. He blinked and shook his head suddenly as if waking from a dream. "No," he replied with a sigh. "I… thought you were someone else. Someone I knew a long time ago. You look very much like her."
He took a deep breath that hitched suddenly in his throat. His eyes clouded and his features twisted as a wave of sickness passed over him. He moaned and his head rolled back. Bethany watched him gasp and writhe for several minutes, internally battling with the withdrawal of the lyrium from his system. It was almost enough to inspire pity in the woman, if she had any left to give.
She sighed inwardly. She had stalled enough. As much as she might want to sit here and watch him suffer, he might actually survive the Joining and if Stroud heard that she had tied him up and tortured him she would sorely regret it. She reached into her robe and produced a small silvered vial filled with a glowing blue elixir. It was powerful, extremely concentrated lyrium from her own personal supply, something she carried with her for emergencies and hoped she never had to use.
The Warden mage got to her feet and took a step forward to stand in front of him. She held the vial where he could see it, but left it just beyond his reach. His eyes locked onto the small object with a hunger so fierce, so blatant that it sent shivers down her spine. It's the lyrium he wants, she scolded herself, all too aware of how long it had been since a man last looked at her that way.
"Recruit Cullen," she said, her voice oddly formal. "Every prospective Warden must undergo a quest to prepare for their Joining. Your quest will be to cleanse this addiction, and the prize will be your life."
She lowered her eyes to the vial in her hand. "This is the last dose of lyrium you will receive. If you choose to take it, you will not be allowed to leave this room until I report to Stroud that you are completely clean. If you do not, you may leave the compound and seek salvation or death elsewhere. Do you understand?"
He nodded wordlessly, never taking his eyes from the lyrium. She deliberately hesitated, waiting until his gaze slid up to hers, reveling in the silent pleading she saw there.
After all those years of running, all those years of fear, who would have thought Bethany Hawke would ever have power over a templar? The Maker certainly does work in mysterious ways, and she was determined to enjoy every moment of this one.
She uncorked the vial and swirled one finger in the viscous liquid. The magic in her body, still quite drained from that incredibly annoying templar maneuver earlier, practically hummed in response to the touch of that slick, sweet substance. She withdrew her coated finger and brought it to her smirking lips as she held Cullen's gaze with her own.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she sucked her finger clean, her eyes fluttering shut at the exquisite sensation of magical energy returning to her body.
Cullen gave a strangled groan and she suppressed a sadistic laugh. Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard Stroud telling her not to play with her prey.
She removed her finger from the warm suction of her mouth with a quiet pop. She swirled it again in the lyrium, but this time she leaned forward and presented it to him. "Suck," she ordered.
Everything she would have to do over the next several weeks to keep him alive suddenly became incredibly worth it as she watched the man battle with his own pride. She felt another thrill of power, just as dizzying as the lyrium had been.
When he finally gave in, she gasped at the force of his mouth on her finger. He sucked and laved it with his tongue until she felt an uncontrollable pang of desire that threatened to buckle her knees. She jerked her hand back and when she met his eyes again she saw the faintest glint of satisfaction there.
"Good," she said in a low voice. "Do you feel better now?"
He gave her a hard look. "Very much, thank you."
She corked the lyrium vial and put it back into her robe, surprised to find her hands shaking slightly. She clenched her jaw and willed them to be still. "As you no doubt know, lyrium isn't as harmful to those of us with the 'gift' of magic. This is the mechanism we'll use to protect your mind while the lyrium is purged from your system. This is why I was called to help you with your quest."
Cullen straightened his shoulders. "You'll shield me with magic?"
"No," Bethany said plainly. "I'll give it to you."
His mouth opened as if to protest, but no sound came out. After a moment he closed it and looked thoughtfully to one side. "That… would technically be possible, wouldn't it? Using the templar discipline, I could be a… proxy of sorts, for your power."
She gave him a wry grin. "In theory, yes. Of course, I'm not Circle trained, so the ritual to share my power with you could go horribly wrong and you'd wind up a toad, or worse."
He glowered at her. "You could have mentioned that before I agreed to spend the next three weeks locked in this room, you know."
"Oh, did I leave that part out? Oops! Silly me."
He sighed. "It's the only chance I have, isn't it?"
She shrugged. "I'm afraid it is. You're not going to find a Circle mage just wandering around, totally willing to help save a former templar."
"Then we'll just have to try."
Bethany nodded and bent to pick up her staff. "We'll start tomorrow. Thanks to that little stunt you pulled I'm going to need to rest before I have the energy to perform the ritual." She stepped towards the door.
"Hey!" he called out, his forehead creased in irritation. "You're just going to leave me like this all night?"
She looked over her shoulder with a grin and a wink. "You're a big man, Cullen. I'm sure you'll get out of those ties eventually." And with that, she left him alone in the room and locked the door from the outside.
He seethed quietly for several minutes before cursing to the empty room. "Maker take every woman bearing the name Amell!"