Fool's Errand
by R2s Muse
Disclaimer: The Dragon Age setting and its characters belong to Bioware. I'm just borrowing!
A/N: Thanks again to my awesome beta, MeanieWeenie!
Chapter summary: Cullen commits his first betrayal while trying to fit into Hawke's tightly knit group.
Chapter 4: The Light Shall Endure
Bremen
Ferelden
...
I have found H. We travel through southern Ferelden. I will now attempt to convince her.
C.
...
The message for Cassandra felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket as Cullen walked to the Chantry the next morning to deliver it. Their early arrival in the town of Bremen, apparently a habit of Hawke's to avoid curious eyes, meant that the streets were mostly empty. He was glad he was accompanied by the more reserved Fenris instead of the talkative dwarf, since Cullen couldn't focus on anything more than the clandestine drop off. His first betrayal. His hand crept into his pocket again and he fingered the wax seal on the message, picturing the symbol pressed into it. The Seeker's sun and all-seeing eye, pierced by an upright sword. Cassandra had claimed that the Chantry priests would know what to do with the message, and that it would reach her safely and securely.
"When you can, you will contact us through our network," Cassandra had commanded. "You will use this seal on your messages." She had handed him a nondescript ring topped with an oval moonstone engraved with the sword of mercy, not dissimilar from those given to every templar upon taking their vows. On this ring, however, the moonstone's setting cleverly flipped over to reveal the Seeker's secret seal. Or whomever the seal belonged to. She hadn't explained it any further. "Keep us apprised of your progress, Cullen, or your deal becomes null and void." At the time, her threat hadn't fazed him in the slightest, but it was different now that he was actively engaged in deception.
"Ho, Templar!"
His head jerked up to look at the scowling elf, who had been trying in vain to get his attention. "What? Yes?" It seemed they had arrived.
The old wooden chantry had seen better days. The bas relief bronze work on the the massive double doors was so tarnished that the usual parable about Andraste it depicted was indecipherable. Arched above the doors, the wooden arc of stylized sunbeams raised to the sky in glory had several gaps where sunbeams had broken off and the arc was canted slightly to one side. At the foot of the steps leading to the doors was a weathered stone statue of Andraste tinted green from moss and neglect. Nevertheless, seeing blessed Andraste welcoming him raised his spirits, until he remembered his purpose there. Like in Gwaren, engaging in something so underhanded in the Maker's house made him feel unclean. The fact that he was there at the Chantry's behest didn't seem to help.
Fenris shook his head in frustration. "I will consult the chanter's board while you take care of whatever your business is inside." With that Fenris skulked away to the rickety posting board standing beside Andraste.
Cullen quickly walked inside the quiet building, hoping to complete his errand before Fenris came looking for him. When Hawke had initially doled out assignments that morning, she had tasked Varric and Fenris to collect the jobs from the chanter's board and had invited Cullen to stay with her at the inn where she would hide out while in town, away from anyone who might recognize her. Needing an excuse to deliver Cassandra's message, he had asked instead to go to the Chantry.
"So long as you don't object, Hawke. My access to the Chantry has been, um, limited of late," he had added. It helped that this was the truth. It had been too long since he had experienced Andraste's grace or the certainty that came from Our Lady's service.
Hawke's eyes had bored into him, questioning, but he had evaded them. He was surprisingly discomfited from their exchange the night before, unsure what to think about her glib apologies but hating the confusion she had caused. He knew she would think he was avoiding her, and maybe he was.
Luckily, Varric had rescued him. "That's all right, Templar. You can go in my place." The dwarf had witnessed Cullen's devotions in Gwaren and seemed to partially understand his need. "I'll see if the constable's office has any work instead, Hawke, and then head over the market in case Blondie and Daisy need a hand." Hawke's keen gaze had lingered on Cullen a moment longer, but she had agreed.
It was still so early Cullen saw only one other parishioner who was leaving the Chantry as he entered. He hurried past the empty pews and guttering red candles straight toward the wooden confessional box. He slipped through the threadbare velvet curtain and into the darkened interior, kneeling down before the patched wooden screen to wait. Cullen was starting to get anxious, repeatedly imagining he heard Fenris's footfalls, when finally the door to the confessional clicked open. A shadowed figure settled down on the other side of the screen with a muffled yawn.
Cullen intoned the familiar words of the Chant, his voice still a little creaky.
"O Maker, hear my cry:
Guide me through the blackest nights
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked
Make me to rest in the warmest places."
The sister responded in a bored voice. "The one who repents shall know true peace. Confess before the Maker and be absolved of your sin."
He cleared his throat nervously, hoping he remembered the phrase Cassandra had told him. "The dark star rises in the east, but the Light shall endure."
He heard a small gasp and then shifting and rustling from behind the screen, as if he had startled the sister into finally attending to what he was saying. The provincial chantry must rarely have seen the Seekers' secret network activated. She stammered, "Have you s-something to . . . to share, my son?"
"I do." He slipped the message along the side of the screen and it was immediately snatched away. He took a deep breath, relieved that the message was delivered and he could turn instead to his own troubled heart. He swallowed against his suddenly dry throat, the words of absolution eluding him as guilt clouded his purpose. "Oh Maker, forgive me. I . . . I fear that . . . I may have lost my way. I wonder if I truly do the Maker's work or—"
"Yes, yes, you have done His work, my son." She chuckled. "Rest at the Maker's hand and be Forgiven. Andraste's grace be with you." With those ceremonial words, she ended the confession. He sat there for a moment, blinking in surprise, and wondered if he'd heard her correctly. There were more rustling sounds and again the click of the confessional door. She must have assumed that his only purpose in coming to the Chantry was to drop off his illicit message. Nevertheless, he felt strangely forsaken. As if Andraste Herself had turned away from his prayers.
Disheartened, he stepped slowly out of the confessional. He started to leave but then sat down heavily on a pew at the back of the Chantry. He numbly watched the initiates scurry about the dais in preparation for the noontime Chant. Behind the dais, the giant statue of Andraste loomed over them, her blank eyes seeming blind to his problems. The dark maw in his chest threatened to swallow him. Was this a sign of things to come? Perhaps comfort would continue to elude him because of the deceitful role he played with Hawke.
He jumped when a slim, hooded figure abruptly slid into the pew beside him. The hooded face turned toward him and he saw Hawke's green eyes peer out at him for a moment before she turned back toward the dais in the guise of supplication. His eyes darted wildly, wondering how long she had been there and hoping she hadn't seen the sister's unseemly flight from the confessional.
"H-Hawke, what are you doing here?" he whispered furiously.
"I was concerned about you," came the muted response from within the hood.
"I don't need to be watched," he snarled. "Not any more." His resentment toward her flared almost uncontrollably.
Her head flew back to him, eyes wide in surprise. "I wasn't. Sweet Maker, I never meant . . ." She turned forward again and he heard a small sigh. "I'm not your keeper, Cullen. I was worried about you, not about what you would do."
He turned back to the dais as well. "There's no need," he said gruffly, working hard to tamp down his anger.
"Look, I know it's been a while, but I used to think of us as friends, for all that we disagreed so often. So, I can't shake the feeling that you seem to feel uncomfortable around me for some reason."
He sighed inwardly. Damn. He had forgotten how tediously forthright she was. And inconveniently perceptive. That could be a problem.
One thing was clear; he had to do a better job of concealing his feelings. With so little need to maintain appearances in prison, he had grown careless with his thoughts and emotions. After all, from whom had he needed to hide? Then, after years of desensitization, there was little to hide anyway. But now that his emotions had started to reawaken in all their volatile glory, he seemed to wear them on his sleeve, for anyone to see. Anyone like Hawke. Damn.
She studied his profile for a beat before continuing. "To be honest, I was worried that I upset you somehow last night. You won't even look at me today, so it seems I have crossed some line." A quick look at her revealed eyes that were deceptively earnest, annoyingly piercing. "Since that's the last thing I want to do," she continued, "I thought I should clear the air with you." She chuckled. "Of course, this would have been easier if you'd stayed with me at the inn, so . . . here I am, trespassing in the Maker's house."
"Hawke, there's no need," he repeated, thinking fast. "You risk yourself by coming out in the open."
She made an exaggerated show of looking around at the empty pews. "Not too many people to discover my presence here, I think," she said, a smile in her tone. "Anyway, if I did something. I don't know, for example, if kissing your cheek broke some templar chastity rule or something, I wanted to apologize." When he met her eyes he was struck by her sincerity. Despite the joking, she even seemed slightly embarrassed.
Damn.
When he didn't say anything right away she barreled on. "You know, we move around so much and hide so much, that I only really spend time with my closest friends now. I realize that might make me a bit too familiar sometimes." She shrugged. "If so, I'm sorry."
I lie to her, and she thanks me. I betray her, and she apologizes to me.
A quiet thought reminded him, She betrayed you, too. But this time, his righteousness was drowned out by shame.
No wonder Andraste won't hear my prayers.
He cleared his throat noisily and ran his hand across his eyes. "No need to apologize, Hawke. You didn't cross a line. I think instead I need to become better accustomed to being around people again." He cleared his throat a second time. "Anyway, templars don't have chastity rules. And even if they did, they would no longer apply to me." There were certain expectations for templar behavior in that arena, since lasting relationships were strongly discouraged, so he had always avoided any extended entanglements. But now? It was a peculiar kind of freedom he'd never considered before.
She glanced at him again, the twinkle in her eye matching her suddenly mischievous smile, but all she said was, "Good to know."
He tried desperately to control the blush he felt warm his cheeks at discussing such a thing with her. He floundered for a safer topic, any other topic. "At any rate, I regret that my behavior today concerned you. To be quite frank, I was anxious about coming here. The Maker has felt rather distant to me, and I have a great disquiet in my soul." He spoke without thinking so was surprised to hear himself admit that to her—even if the truth of it was a good excuse.
"And, here I am disturbing your reunion with Him," she murmured. "I hope I don't get struck by lightning."
He couldn't help the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Does that often happen to you in the Chantry?" He looked down at her and noticed for the first time the tiny dimple she had on one side when she grinned like that.
"I think I may just have been lucky so far," she said drily. "But, I doubt Andraste appreciates infidels like me under her roof. It seems disrespectful."
"I think Andraste offers comfort to all. All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands, From the lowest slaves, To the highest kings," he quoted.
"Even so, I think it is those who have true faith who deserve her comfort."
"So you think you are undeserving?"
She looked over at him, her brow creased slightly, like she wasn't sure if he was being serious. She frowned down at her hands where they sat in her lap. "I do," she whispered.
They sat quietly for a minute, each lost in their thoughts. Eventually, she asked, "Did you at least find what you were looking for?"
He sighed. "I don't know," he said. Then he shook his head. "No. Not really."
"Well . . ." She bit her lip, seeming to consider her words. "I don't know much about such things. But, you were in a very dark place, Cullen—literally, I imagine, as well as spiritually. I would just give yourself some time to find your way back to the Maker. I've heard He can be very forgiving." She grimaced. "If I were Him, I would be proud to have someone as devoted as you walking my path." She gave him a little smile, and then got up and left.
Bemused, he turned and watched her walk away. When she reached the door she turned back and smiled again. The sun had climbed high enough to slant in through the tall clerestory windows and its bright light suddenly enveloped her, gilding her features with righteous flame. Her green eyes blazed with a hint of heavenly glory and her smile was beatific and mysterious. He gaped at her, awestruck, but then the moment was gone and the door swung shut behind her.
He blinked and shook his head, wondering what exactly he had seen. Then, he heard the disembodied voice of a sister warming up to sing the Chant.
"The Light shall lead her safely
Through the paths of this world, and into the next.
For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.
As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,
She should see fire and go towards Light."
His brow furrowed in puzzlement and he sat for a time contemplating whether he had received a sign after all. And if so, what it meant to tell him.
ooXXoo
When Cullen emerged from the dark chantry interior, the faithful were starting to arrive for the Chant. He saw a grumpy-looking Fenris leaning against a wooden fencepost and remembered at last that the elf was waiting for him. Automatically, he mumbled an apology.
Fenris grunted. "Hawke told me to wait until you were finished inside." He looked askance at all the townsfolk streaming through the doors. "But, I do not think we should linger."
Cullen nodded and fell in beside the elf as they headed back to the inn. In an effort to distract himself further from his odd experience at the Chantry, he asked, "Were there many jobs on the chanter's board?"
"Enough. Enough to keep us busy for the next few weeks."
"Then what will you do?"
"Then?" Fenris asked, dark eyebrows drawn down in confusion. "Why, then we'll move on to the next chanter's board."
"Oh. I see." Not that Cullen was sure he really did.
"Didn't there used to be more of you?" Cullen asked, still feeling uncharacteristically talkative with the grim elf. "I seem to remember the Guard Captain being part of Hawke's inner circle. And, perhaps a pirate?"
"Ah, Captain Isabela is back at sea. Her activities necessarily keep her around Rivain these days. And, Aveline has settled down here in Ferelden. We see her occasionally, but she cannot travel as we do with her children."
Children? He remembered Aveline the most clearly of all Hawke's associates, due to their professional dealings when Aveline was captain of Kirkwall's Guard. It was nice to hear of someone successfully quitting the soldiering life and settling down. "How long have you all been traveling together like this?"
Fenris thought for a moment. "About two and a half years, I believe."
"Seems a rough life."
Fenris snorted. "So says the former Gallows' inmate."
Cullen nodded his head to the side once, acknowledging the man's point. Neither of them spoke again until shortly before they arrived at the inn.
"Does Hawke always have to hide out like this? Is she really in so much danger after all this time?" Cullen asked.
Something flashed deep in Fenris's eyes at the question, like the answer was much lengthier than the simple yes he supplied. Cullen wondered at this as they entered the dim recesses of the inn.
Hawke was ensconced at a table in a back corner, smiling in amusement at her friends who were chatting animatedly around her.
"—still could have gotten him to go much lower," Varric said, talking slowly like he was explaining something to a child.
Merrill's pretty face was marred by a confused frown. "I still got it for a good price, Varric. There's no need to beggar the man."
"It's the principle of the thing, Daisy." Varric sounded wounded. "Even the vendor was disappointed you didn't haggle."
Anders laughed at this. "I think he was at that. You need to practice your poker face next time, Merrill, and at least make a few counteroffers."
Merrill sniffed disdainfully. "I should lie, you mean. No. If he sets a price for his hard work, then he should get it. We're not so poor that we need to steal from him."
"Much more of this, and we will be," Varric muttered.
Anders chuckled again, but his face closed off when he caught sight of Cullen and Fenris approaching. In an instant, his expression became frigid, his eyes again distrustful.
"Ah, there you are," Hawke said in a cheery voice, rubbing her palms together. "So, Fenris, what do you have for us today?"
The elf sat and pulled a small scrap of paper from a pouch at his waist. Sitting down next to Fenris, Cullen saw that the paper was almost bare but for a few words written in an unsteady scrawl. Fenris looked down at the paper, making as if to read from it, but he was clearly drawing mostly from memory since his words were much more detailed than what was on the page. He described some nearby bandit activity, some missing children, a little light guard duty for a caravan, plus some more trivial tasks. Varric added in help with a prisoner transfer from his visit with the constable.
Hawke nodded at each of these but didn't speak until they were done. "Good. I think of all those, I'd prioritize the missing children, then the bandits. Other thoughts?"
They engaged in a wide ranging discussion of the various tasks, how long they would take and the sort of supplies they might need. Cullen just listened as the group made a show of squabbling over the details, but in reality they were all in complete agreement and functioning like clockwork. He let their easy camaraderie wash over him, pretending for a moment that it included him even though he contributed nothing and only nodded when appropriate.
This unexpected feeling of contentment was interrupted when he started to feel a faint humming run along his nerves and tickling just under his skin. He had started to scratch the inside of one wrist raw before he realized what he was doing.
What is that sound?
The humming settled at the base of his skull, making it difficult to think or concentrate any longer on the discussion. His throat felt dry and no amount of swallowing seemed to slake it or remove the odd metallic tang on his tongue. He looked down at his hand on the table and saw that it trembled noticeably. To hide it, and to distract himself from the insistent hum, he started drumming his fingers on the table. That was when he noticed the small drip of sweat fall on the back of his hand. Reaching up, he felt his forehead beaded with wetness.
What is that sound?
"Cullen, are you all right?" The words sounded like they were coming from far away. He tried to focus on them, and then saw Hawke looking at him, brow creased in concern. "Cullen? What is it?"
His eyes darted feverishly around the table, noticing that everyone was now staring at him, and then at last he saw it. Sitting at the other end of the table, its blue light beaming enticingly, was a series of lyrium vials lined up all in a row on the stained, oaken tabletop. The cool pool of light surrounding the vials seemed to draw him in while its brilliance felt like hundreds of needles burning through his eyes and into his brain. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the enchanting blue liquid, its song now drowning out all other sound. It called to him, singing of need, power . . . and madness.
Then, he stiffened when a hand roughly pulled on his arm. "Cullen!" Hawke was right in his face now, seeming to want something from him. She looked away, over her shoulder. "Dammit, Anders, I said put them away now! . . . I don't care where. Just out of sight. Do it!"
Then, the humming fell silent, leaving behind a chill on his skin which was drenched in sweat and a hollow longing at the back of his mind. Cullen licked his dry lips and tried to clear his throat, which just made a dry rattling sound and ended in a wracking cough.
"Here. Drink this." A large earthen mug of water was shoved in his face, so he drank. The water immediately soothed his raw throat and cooled down his overheated body. When it was gone, he gingerly set the cup on the table and wiped his mouth with a still shaking hand. He glanced at Hawke who was watching him intently. When he attempted a weak smile of reassurance, she nodded once. "You all carry on with the planning. Cullen and I are going for a walk."
He tried to argue, but she ignored him, grabbing his arm more tightly and yanking him to his feet. "Let's go, Templar." She then propelled him out the door and into the sunlight and fresh air.
He took great gulping breaths, discovering that the fresh air helped immensely. His mind started to clear and he could feel his body temperature returning to normal. He looked over at Hawke who watched him with her head cocked to one side and an inscrutable look on her face. She motioned down the street with a nod of her head. "Come on."
He nodded and followed her. They walked in silence away from the crowded town center, past busy townsfolk who hurried by without giving them a second glance. Hawke paced beside him, matching his long stride. As the last traces of fog left his brain he started to notice more of the details around them. They were approaching the edge of town where there were now as many fields and animal enclosures as houses, and passersby were rare. They had come farther than he'd realized. Too far for a casual chat.
Hawke slowed down and headed toward an ancient tree with broad branches that shaded most of the well-traveled road but also shielded her from anyone who might walk by. Warily, he joined her. She leaned a shoulder against the tree's massive trunk before she turned to address him. "So. Was that a sign of lyrium addiction or withdrawal?"
Thinking again of his extreme reaction, he passed a trembling hand across his eyes. "I am no longer addicted, if that's what you're asking."
"So withdrawal, then."
"Not . . . precisely. I . . ." He took a deep breath. "Well, I am not quite sure. That was the first time I've encountered lyrium in, um, several years."
Her eyes narrowed and then widened as realization hit her. "So, you broke your lyrium addiction while in prison?"
"Yes," he said flatly, finding it difficult to think about that particularly harrowing period of his life. He should have died. Most templar did when they quit lyrium cold turkey. His jailers hadn't seemed to care what happened to him. They certainly weren't going to supply an inmate with the valuable substance. In fact, they probably thought his withdrawal symptoms would aid in his interrogation, unbalancing him sufficiently that he would finally reveal what they wanted to know. But he had had nothing left to reveal, so instead he had descended into madness for a time.
Luckily he remembered little of it until he woke up lucid one day, the light from his tiny, barred window streaming across his face. In that moment, he had been infused with the feeling of warmth, lightness and hope. It had taken some time for him to fully recover his strength, but his lyrium dependence had been broken. By some miracle, he had lived through it.
He looked over at her and for a moment thought he saw the unbearable compassion back in her eyes, but when she spoke, her tone was all business, her expression unreadable. "I see." She pushed away from the tree and when she stood before him the compassion was definitely gone. She had switched again into her serious mode and a dangerous light shined from her eyes. "You should know that, although it can be hard for us to track it down sometimes, lyrium is something Anders does use regularly. Is that going to be a problem?"
A warning bell went off in the back of his head and he had the sudden instinct to grip his sword as they faced each other, completely alone on the deserted road. He thought about the various things he could say to reassure her, to answer her challenge and diffuse the situation, but instead he said, "I don't know. I would like to think that next time I will be prepared to better control my reaction. But I cannot make any promises."
He tensed himself for her response, every muscle alert and ready to defend himself, but all she did was nod her head. "Then that will have to do." He almost jumped when suddenly she grinned. "It's not like we needed more reasons for you to stay away from Anders, but I think this is another good one." She nodded back toward town. "Come on, let's get back."
Confused by her mixed signals, he didn't follow immediately, feeling a chill as his adrenalin rush subsided. She looked back at him with eyebrows raised. "Coming?"
He let out a breath and cautiously moved to walk beside her. After a few minutes he said, "I had thought perhaps you'd taken me out here to jettison a problem."
She glanced at him sidelong, the dimple peeping out. "You have trust issues, don't you?"
"I . . . No . . . I . . . Well . . . Why else isolate me from the rest of your friends?"
She chuckled. "I was giving you a moment to compose yourself, away from prying eyes. Not a lot of privacy in a group like ours sometimes." They walked for a few more minutes before she stopped and faced him, compassion and something else he couldn't identify in her eyes. "Cullen, hopefully you'll soon learn that we don't operate that way." She reached out and put her hand on his arm, just above his gauntlet, and he struggled not to pull away from the invasive touch. "You don't have to trust me just yet, because I trust you. For now, I think that's enough." She gave him an encouraging smile and started walking again, thankfully not waiting for a response.
He couldn't say anything to that since the only word that sprang to his lips was, Fool. How had Hawke survived so long with such instincts? He should be delighted that his plan was working, that she had accepted him into her group without question, but instead he had a sick feeling in the bottom of his stomach.
A/N: Up next: Chapter 5: An Act of Penance, will show us how Cullen is fitting in a few weeks later as he launches into the next phase of his plan. Thanks so much for reading!