Author's note:
Thank you again to ExcidiumHawke, Ryoko Metallium and Gil Shalos1 for taking the time to read and review. I wouldn't have much of an incentive to continue if it wasn't for your support.
Reunion
Redcliffe
She pulled away from him, breathless and hungry. One hand circled her waist while the other ran up her neck and into her hair. Stroud pushed her up against the wall and she bumped into a side table, nearly knocking the oil lamp over.
"I like it when we fight and make up," he murmured.
"I'd prefer it if we didn't have to fight at all," she replied.
He kissed her harder the second time; her sense of touch heightened in response.
The damnable Templars had permitted their junior members only one leisurely day a week to spend as they chose; so long as such activities did not violate or contradict Templar rules and teachings. All the other remaining days were spent honing their skills, learning and upholding tenets of the Order. Stroud had argued that they were robbing her of him, and he couldn't deny that it left him feeling cheated and slightly bitter. There were times when he had wondered if he'd made the right decision in coming here. All this deception and sneaking about...he hated the fact that they couldn't even be seen in public together.
But then...there were moments like this where all the anger, the frustrations, dissipated.
He took off her jacket, and removed his own shirt in between kisses and slipped his hand underneath her white linen shirt.
"Wait..." she whispered.
"I've been waiting over a year."
It was true. Stroud had stood by patiently for them to consummate their relationship, but she had always maintained a feeling of trepidation. Perhaps, she decided, she was waiting for the perfect time and place. But what if it never came? What if her new life and duties thereof took her from him?
Adric was right – to an extent. Evangeline and Stroud bickered constantly – both had tendencies to succumb to emotional extremes. But at the end of it, they found one another again, sheepish in their guilt, and made up with as much passion as they had during their arguments. There were times where she found it quite exhausting. She thought she loved him; more than a year into it, they were still clearly infatuated with each other.
Then why wait, she asked herself? It's not as if they were getting married and having children. Which was an entirely novel fear altogether. Yeah, why not?
"Okay. Alright." she relented, much for her own benefit as for his. Her hands went cold and her stomach churned. "Give me a glass of your strongest wine. Ale. Booze."
Stroud turned his attention to a small cabinet at the end of the room and back to her again. "You want to be drunk while we have sex?" he asked incredulously.
"No. No. Just a little to take the edge off. I'm as nervous as hell – here, feel this." Evangeline placed her hand in his. It was like ice.
Stroud nodded and fetched her a cup.
She guzzled the alcohol quickly, and on an empty stomach its effects took hold of her faster. It had certainly become easier. Her inhibitions were lowered and her mind grew foggy. It was as if she traded rationale for a different perception entirely. One that made her skin come alive with an intense yearning. She regarded Stroud with a foreign hunger. True, there were smatterings of love thereabouts, but this was assuredly lust. He stood a few feet away and was shirtless. He truly was...quite the specimen. Lean and not bulky. Hard but not cold. And he was all hers. She took her time examining his chest and couldn't help but reach out with her right hand to touch it. As she ran her fingers down slowly to his abdomen, she locked her gaze in his. He looked back at the violet eyes that lay behind her thick, dark brows and forgot to breathe.
Evangeline could not handle the gap anymore, and with one swift stride, she covered the distance between them. She kissed Stroud with renewed intensity and the two were quick in helping one another break free of their trousers.
"The bed?" he asked as he removed her shirt.
"No. Here. Standing up. Against the wall."
"Yes, ma'am." he said with a broad smile.
Evangeline had no clue how long the entire event had lasted. It could have been five minutes, or it could have been an hour. In the haze of this alcoholic buzz, the only thing she was certain of was the warmth of satisfaction spreading over her being. Admittedly, she wasn't certain if this was how she imagined her first time would be, but - she had to confess - it wasn't bad. Not bad at all.
"Maker," panted Stroud, breathless as he stepped back from her. "If I had known..."
She looked at him, one corner of her mouth turned upwards. "We should do this more often."
"All day long if I can manage it," quipped Stroud.
"My superiors might have something to say about that," she said as she dressed herself.
"Fuck the Templars." And then, half-jokingly, "Come on, Evie, let's run away – you and me. Let's leave all this behind us."
The effects of the alcohol were starting to wear off. "So...you propose what, exactly? We find ourselves another home?"
He nodded.
"And when you get tired of that place – then what?"
"We go somewhere else."
She regarded him with a modicum of sadness in her eyes. "Of course."
Stroud failed to notice anything. "Just...well, think about it, is all."
She buttoned her shirt and put on her jacket. "Promise you'll take good care of Bunty? He needs to get out and run around at least thrice a day. And it helps if you applaud him while he does his laps. He does like an audience. I should be back in a few weeks."
Stroud placed a solemn hand on his breast. "I swear it."
And just as she stepped out of the threshold and into the night air, he called after her. "Evie...I...thank you. For tonight."
She smiled and walked out.
Lake Calenhad
The Circle Tower
She floated towards him. Her slender fingers tapered into long and sharp nails. Or were those claws...? He couldn't quite discern the details. At any rate, it didn't matter. She...it...had probed the recesses of his mind. It had broken barriers and combed his memories for vulnerabilities.
Do you, it had asked coyly, want me to be her?
And the image shifted to that of the innocent girl. She was wearing the same maroon dress he'd first seen her in. She looked around her nervously – just as she'd done that night. But no. It wasn't her. Not truly.
With tremendous effort he managed to disrupt it. But then, from the corners of this murky nightmare, stepped forward a beaten and bloody form of one his colleagues, his friend. It regarded Cullen dully; and then shuffled towards him.
"Why did it spare you?" the apparition asked.
I don't know.
"Why keep you contained and kill the rest of us?"
Please...I don't know.
"Were you colluding with it?"
No. I promise. I swear to you. I wasn't.
The broken figure swung a fractured arm in his direction and bellowed. "Then why do I remain dead while you still breathe!"
"I don't know!" yelled the Templar as his eyes shot open. Head still firmly on the pillow, and his body rolled into a fetal position in the cot, he couldn't help but attract the attention of the Chantry Sister in the corner of the room. And the room was familiar. He lay in the infirmary within the Circle Tower.
"Still here," he murmured, oblivious to the fact that he was talking out loud. "Why am I still here? Somebody please tell me why!"
The Sister rushed to his side to comfort him. "It's alright, child. It's over now. The Maker has heard your cries and has come to your aid."
Cullen scowled and pushed her arm aside as he sat up on the rickety cot. He grabbed his head in his hands. "She was right. There is no Maker. No deity could stand by and let all this happen."
The Sister looked at him, troubled. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as she knelt by his side. He did not brush it away. "We are servants of the Maker. Here to do His will. My presence here is evidence enough of His compassion. Will you not let me help you?"
"You can't." he muttered, his voice breaking. "Nothing can fix this."
"Perhaps you should talk about what you saw. Or lie back down," insisted the Sister.
"No. I've slept long enough." The cot creaked as he got up and staggered out of the room.
"Now! You're asking me this now?" exclaimed Evangeline as they sat in the large kitchen. The fire from the hearth was the only source of flickering light. It danced against the wide tables and benches in the empty - save for its two occupants - room.
Most of the Circle Tower's inhabitants had turned in for the night. Occasionally, a servant would wander in to finish a forgotten, half-complete task. But for the most part, they were alone. And due to the pair's insomniac tendencies, they had decided to come here. To seek solace in each other's company. Well, that was the intention, anyway.
"Well, you're hair was significantly disheveled. Trust me, I can tell. And you had this...glow about you."
She leaned forward and whispered harshly at him. She pointed to one side with vigour. "There are corpses being burned outside. They can't even afford to provide them with a dignified burial because of the condition of the bodies. How can you take...pieces back to their families? Every sodding Templar here is traumatized by what happened. And you...you're asking me about my sex life?"
Adric took a sip of his tea; unperturbed. "Evangeline dear, don't be so thick."
She flung her hands up in futility.
Adric fiddled with removing something out of the corner of his eye. "You – along with the rest of our esteemed Order – just spent several minutes regurgitating your last meals onto the courtyard of this establishment. Billy and some of the others have come down with an uncontrollable fit of the shakes. No one – not a single person – could walk through these hallways, stumble upon the aftermath of this...slaughter and walk away unscathed. So, yes. Do reprimand me with your superior sense of morality. Chastise me as I attempt distract you from all this death and destruction."
Evangeline leaned back and mouthed a silent oh.
Adric rolled his eyes heavenwards. "You really do try my patience, you know."
"Sorry..." she said sheepishly. "You're alright," she smiled as she leaned over and slugged Adric on the arm.
"I'm more than alright," remarked Adric. He rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Well. As enthralling as this short conversation has been, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to call it a night. I suggest that you do the same."
Evangeline rose up to warm herself by the fire. "You go ahead. I just have to...think for a while."
She removed her shoes and flexed her weary feet. The heat from the blaze was welcome and she was grateful that no one had decided to put it out.
What had happened here seemed to have leapt off the pages of a historical tome. They had all heard of abominations, but they were still of junior rank and only a few had witnessed a Harrowing. According to Knight Commander Gregoir, Uldred had courted blood magic in order to win mages their freedom. But as such flirtations with dark powers typically go, things spiraled quickly out of control. A demon possessed Uldred and his cohorts and the chaos that ensued would have laid waste to everyone trapped inside. So grim was the situation that the Knight Commander was prepared to enact the Right of Annulment.
If it hadn't been for the aid of two Grey Wardens, a senior Enchanter and dwarf, Irving would be dead and the mages lost.
Had she stepped into some morbid tale of misadventure?
"I – I'm sorry," came a male voice from one end of the room, startling her. "I didn't know anyone else was in here."
"It's okay," she said without turning around.
"Are you...with the Chantry?" he asked.
Evangeline snorted. "Not quite. We came at Gregoir's behest to help out."
"Ah. I'll not trouble you then. Just came to get something to drink."
As he clattered about, Evangeline – too lazy to put her shoes back on – sat up and stretched. Maybe it was time to sleep. She'd have to wake up in five hours anyway. She walked past the man, slightly bleary-eyed. He filled a kettle and began to boil some water. As she neared the doorway, Evangeline paused. Given the lateness of the hour, her mind was sluggish and seemed to struggle to shine a light on something she had missed. But it eluded her, and with a shrug she continued on her way.
"Evangeline?" called the voice.
She froze out in the hallway. The man hurried towards her.
"Evangeline?" he repeated, this time to her face.
Her eyes widened, as if she'd seen a ghost. A stubbled, red-eyed, gaunt face looked back at her in equal surprise.
"Cullen," she almost whispered. "Here?"
His eyes ran over her face. She was a little different, her hair was longer, she had a slight scar above her left brow but those same eyes he saw in dreams and now, nightmares, looked back at him. "Are you real?" he said quietly.
"What? Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be?" she exclaimed, rather harshly. And then a flood of realization came over her. Stupid, stupid, Evie. He was in shock. "You were here, weren't you?" she asked, softening her tone. "You were here when it happened."
He stared back at her, at a loss for words. He quickly looked away. He was remembering, trying to formulate something coherent. But it clearly hurt because he winced as he did so. Whether this was physical, emotional or both – she did not know.
What the hell would Elena do in a situation like this?
She cocked her head slightly to one side, trying to get his attention. She put a reassuring arm on his shoulder. He flinched and pulled back.
"I – I'm sorry," he muttered.
Okay. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"I know."
"I would never hurt you."
"I know.
"Would you like to play some chess with me?"
He took her to the cellar. No one died in here, he said. They cleared several moth-eaten scrolls and parchments in a fairly well-lit corner, sat down on the floor opposite each other and set up the game.
The distraction seemed to clear his head somewhat. He picked up one piece after another and looked at them quizzically.
"Evie, why do these pieces have faces on them?" he asked. He studied a rook and thrust it out in her direction. "This one looks like a whore!"
She coloured slightly. "I...ah. We – that is, Adric and I myself..." she gave up all efforts at finding an explanation so assigned blame instead. "Oh I don't know. He's Ser Adric, Lord of Whimsy. Who knows why he does what he does."
"I'm sure you had a hand in it. You used to be quite whimsical, too, if I remember correctly," said Cullen, eying her. "It wouldn't surprise me at all if you still were."
Evangeline gave him a wan smile. For whatever reason, being down here with him alone felt...strange. A nice kind of strange.
"Who's Adric?" he questioned.
"My fellow Templar and friend."
"So you're a Templar now, huh?" he asked. "Whatever happened to: I'd rather recite dirty limericks while juggling nugs at the Wintersend Ball than join the Templars?" He moved his pawn forward.
"Not quite a Templar yet," she corrected, "and I never said anything of the sort." She moved her castle three spaces to the left.
"Oh, I promise you that you did."
"When?"
"Don't you remember? The night Bunty crashed your mother's salon. You had a little too much to drink afterwards."
The night you held me as I passed out from my drunken stupor? And in that stupor, I told you about Ser Rutherford and the goat. And you went to all the trouble of making a replacement. The memories flooded in against her wishes. She shuddered in an effort to expel them.
"Are you cold?" he asked. "I could go get you a blanket."
"No. I'm...uh...fine. It's your move."
"This is a refreshing change, you know," he commented. "For the last few weeks, everyone's been insisting that I rest. Lie down. No one – until now – has had the sense to bring back some degree of normalcy. Sometimes a smattering of everyday tedium is the best medicine."
She looked up at him playfully. "Are you calling this game tedious, Cullen?"
He chuckled. "Not at all. It's just nice – is all. Playing it. With you." He swallowed.
"Well, you're going to like it even more soon enough. I'm really quite terrible at it. I haven't won a game for several months."
"I used to play with my sister a lot. She was undeniably the better player."
She'd wanted to ask him if he'd informed his family about recent events, but looking at him now – his face seemed a shade brighter, quite possibly due to recent distractions. No need to remind him of what he had just endured. "You're still one up on me. Adric only taught me about a year ago."
He shifted his position into a more comfortable cross-legged one. "I have to confess, as much as I've been thinking about you, you're the last person I expected to see here."
And as soon as he had said it, he froze. He shut his eyes tight, and didn't dare peek. A red hue flushed his cheeks and he stammered, trying valiantly to recover some shred of dignity. "I...that is to say...thinking about you right after I saw you. In the kitchens. Because that was when I saw you. Tonight. Earlier."
Evangeline remained silent. Uncertain of what she should say. Well, think of something, anything! "Ser Rutherford!" she exclaimed suddenly. It was her turn to swallow nervously. "The bear, I mean. Elena told me that you gave him his hat and his cape. It was really very sweet, Cullen. Thank you."
"Did you like him? Was he...uh...anything like his predecessor?" he asked, still unable to look her in the eye.
She smiled. "Oh, yes. Tremendously. I can honestly say it has been an absolute joy to sleep with Ser Rutherford beside me every night. He is such a sweetheart." Maferath's balls. She had walked right into that one. "The bear, I mean. Not you. Not that you're not a sweetheart...I...ugh!"
Cullen hung his head and chuckled. "Thank you for this."
"For what? My social ineptitude?" she asked; cheeks still very red.
"I didn't think I'd be able to laugh again. At least not this soon." He reached out for her hand in gratitude. But he held on to it a little longer than necessary, and his thumb stroked her skin, sending something electric down her spine. And then his hand was by his side again and the moment was over.
He deliberately exposed his queen and sacrificed his knight in order to clear a path for her rook. As Evangeline felled his king, she stared at the board in slight disbelief.
"I...won?" she said.
"It would appear so."
"I'll be damned. I wish Adric was here to see it." She narrowed her eyes at him. He hadn't... let her win, had he? No, of course he didn't.
She got up and stretched. "I...should probably get to bed. You ought to as well."
He helped her put away the pieces and fold up the board. "I'm going to stay down here for a few minutes longer. You go ahead."
Evangeline stared at him in concern. "You're going to sleep down here tonight, aren't you?" He gazed back at her, wordlessly. She went on. "It's like you said earlier. Nothing happened down here and you can't feel that fear. So, here is safe."
He gave her a barely perceptible nod.
Her eyes lit up. "Wait right here, don't go anywhere!"
In a few minutes, he could hear her patter down the steps. She carried a roll of sheets and two pillows before her. She plonked it down in front of him. "Ser Rutherford of Honnleath, who thankfully wasn't devoured by a gluttonous goat, it would be my absolute pleasure to return the favour you so humbly bestowed upon me in Ostwick." She rolled out the sheets and fluffed up the pillows.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Keeping you company."
"I thought you didn't remember that night..."
"I don't. Elena told me. Besides, you're my friend and this is what friends do for each other. Now scooch over."
Cullen sat propped up against her shoulder. "I don't want to lie down." he said, his voice barely audible.
"Why not?"
"Dreams. Bad ones. Sometimes I think lying down makes it worse."
"Okay." She slipped an arm around him and rested her cheek against his hair. "What makes it better?"
He paused. "Limericks. Tell me some of the most absurd limericks you've ever heard of."
Evangeline laughed. Imagination rampant, she thought up a number of utterly ridiculous limericks to help put his mind at ease.
He fell asleep to the sound of her voice and the thought of a Chantry priest performing somersaults into churned butter.
