Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to leave a review!
And a big thank you, once again, to Jen, for rescuing some of my sentences and ramblings! :-*
~O~
"Gabby Surana has a plan?" Nathaniel asked amusedly, folding his arms and grinning. "Now this, I have to hear."
Gabby placed a hand on her hip and pursed her lips. "Actually," she said indignantly, "this plan is already well underway, and at stage three."
"And I wasn't informed of this?" Nathaniel asked with mock outrage. "You agreed to run your hare-brained schemes past Varel or I before proceeding with them, remember? After the Andraste debacle?"
Gabby had indeed assented to consult Varel or Nathaniel whenever she had a 'good idea,' after one night of heavy drinking with Anders, when the two mages had thought it a wonderful and charitable idea to dress up the statue of Andraste in the Vigil's Keep courtyard, as she 'looked cold.'
The statue was adorned with an old robe of Gabby's, that they slit up the back for ease of dressing; a scarf belonging to Anders, a hat and several items of jewellery. There was a small hitch in their plan, however: Gabby had completely forgotten that the Revered Mother from the Amaranthine Chantry was visiting the following morning, and she and Anders had to lie low, whilst poor Varel was forced to come up with an excuse, blaming it on 'local louts'. Just how local those louts were, he refrained from divulging. The Revered Mother was particularly nonplussed at the sight of Andraste's bottom peeking out from beneath the split in the robe.
"This isn't a hare-brained scheme," she protested. "In fact, it's going quite well."
Nathaniel sat down on a chair and folded his arms again. "Do tell," he smirked.
Gabby sat down on his bed. "Well, the plan is that I 'accidentally' bump into him, as often as I can," she related.
"Good plan," Nathaniel said dryly. "Your best yet."
Gabby glared at him coldly for a moment. "Stage one is complete," she continued, ignoring his cynicism. "That was to get him to actually speak to me. Stage two was to get him to look me in the eye, which he did several times today."
"Whilst yelling at you," Nathaniel reminded her.
"Actually, he looked at me while I was in his office," she replied tartly, "and he wasn't yelling then."
Nathaniel cocked an eyebrow, and Gabby knew he was intrigued. "And what's stage three?" he asked.
"To make him smile," she declared optimistically.
"And how do you propose to do that?" he scoffed. "Tell him a joke?"
"Yes," she said animatedly. "I thought I'd tell him the one about the sarcastic Grey Warden whose balls were burned to a crisp by an angry mage," she threatened, her hands crackling with static as she held them out toward Nathaniel, making a 'grabbing' gesture with them.
"I don't think he'd like that one," Nathaniel said with a slightly nervous laugh, smoothing down his hair, which had started to stand on end.
A knock sounded at the door. Nathaniel opened it. A nervous-looking Templar stood outside. "Is…everything alright in there?" he asked warily.
"Oh, it was only me," Gabby admitted as she went to the door. "I have to keep my lackeys in line, you understand?"
"Oh," the Templar mumbled. "Yes, of course, Warden-Commander…but I must respectfully ask you not to use unsanctioned magic outside of regulation hours…"
"Yes, I know," she interrupted. "It won't happen again."
"Thank you, Warden-Commander," the Templar replied, bowing and making a hasty retreat.
"So I'm a lackey, now, am I?" Nathaniel said as he closed the door. "Well, that's a step up. Last week I was a toady, and the week before that, a lickspittle."
"Yes, well, I'm feeling charitable today," she replied. "Anyway, back to the plan. I'm just going to be as blithely cheerful as I can each time I see him," she declared.
"You're good at that," Nathaniel snorted, before breaking into a laugh. "Well, you make me smile, my dear," he said fondly. "I wish you luck. Although, Cullen doesn't seem like the smiling type to me."
"Oh, he used to be," Gabby recalled. "And he has the most wonderful laugh, almost like a cackle. And," she reminded him, "as I recall, Nathaniel, you were a very bitter and angry man when we first met. When you came back to the Keep after I released you, I could see there was a decent man beneath. I had a similar plan for you, too."
That gave Nathaniel pause. "I had not thought of that," he confessed, thinking for a moment. "I didn't make it easy for you, did I?" he admitted, "but you didn't give up. You just kept chipping away, in that irrepressible way that you do."
"Well, I've humbled the all-knowing, answer-for-everything Nathaniel Howe," she murmured thoughtfully, clasping her chin. "The ultimate achievement. The question is, where do I go from here?"
Nathaniel beamed at her. "I think it sounds like a fine plan," he conceded. "Come here," he said to Gabby, pulling her into a hug and kissing the top of her head. "We'd best get some sleep," he advised, releasing her. "You have scheming to do tomorrow."
"Goodnight, lackey," she said cheekily as he opened the door for her.
"Goodnight," he bid her with a chuckle, closed the door, and began to prepare for bed.
~O~
Cullen was up early the next day, as usual, and took his morning constitutional around the Tower's gardens. He made it a point to be outside just as the sun came up, chasing away the terrors that came to him each night in his dreams. Furthermore, the gardens were deserted at this time, and afforded him solitude. He found it so draining to be around other people for too long.
He found it very jarring, therefore, to find he had company this morning. Up ahead, picking flowers and humming to herself, was the Warden-Commander. He groaned to himself and turned to head back the way he had come.
"Cullen?" she called. He stopped and closed his eyes as he heard the soft padding of feet heading toward him. "Fancy seeing you here!" she said cheerily, stepping in front of him. "Come to admire the flowers, have you?" she asked, taking a deep sniff of the small posy she had made.
"Flowers?" he said cuttingly, "certainly not."
"No, that wouldn't be very manly, would it?" she said with a warm smile.
"Yes, well, I must be going," he said brusquely. "I have work to do," and continued on his way.
"Erm, Cullen?" she asked, "wouldn't it be quicker to walk round the other way toward the entrance?"
Cullen's body visibly stiffened. "Yes," he answered curtly, and turned to head in the opposite direction.
"I'm going that way," she informed him. "I'll keep you company, if you like."
Cullen halted. "What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously.
"Going back inside," she replied warily, her smile fading.
He shook his head. "Why are you even talking to me?" he asked incredulously.
"We used to be friends, Cullen, remember?" she reminded him softly.
There it was again. The sudden urge to grab her.
And do what? Embrace her? Strike her?
He swallowed hard. "Things change," he said with bitterness in his voice. "People change. I am not the person you once knew," he warned. "You would be better off staying out of my way." With that, he turned on his heel and resumed his original direction.
"Cullen…" Gabby began.
He spun round. "What?" he snapped.
"It doesn't matter," she said quietly. She watched, clutching her posy, as he walked away. Before he rounded the bend, he very briefly turned his head in her direction, before looking away and disappearing from sight.
Cullen turned the corner and stopped, leaning against the wall. He listened intently for a few moments for footsteps. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt when he heard none. He removed his gauntlets and tucked them underneath his arm, holding his hands out in front of him. They had developed a fine tremor over the last few days, probably to do with the fact that he had not been drinking alcohol. He had also not dreamed of Uldred for the past two nights, which worried him. The occasional night had passed by without such a dream, which was almost invariably followed by a very bad episode the following night.
He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not hear Gabby rounding the corner, and dropped his gauntlets in fright as she collided with him, walking straight into one of his metal pauldrons.
"Ow!" she yelled, clutching at her forehead. Cullen stood there powerlessly for a moment, not knowing what to do. As she moved her hand away, he was alarmed to see an angry, purple dent above her right eyebrow.
"I thought you'd gone!" she said angrily, wincing as she touched her forehead. "That could have been my eye!"
"You-you'd better sit down," he advised nervously, gesturing to a small bench not far away from them.
They walked over to the bench, Cullen a few paces behind her. Gabby suddenly stopped and held her hands out in front of her, as though she had walked into an invisible wall. Cullen stopped beside her. "Feel…dizzy…" she said breathlessly with her eyes closed, blindly reaching out for Cullen's arm. Upon touching it, he instinctively recoiled and drew it back. She staggered to the bench, looking at him briefly before slumping onto it. The dismay and hurt in her eyes took his breath away. "What is wrong with you?" she whimpered, and started to weep as she put her head in her hands.
"Ser?" a Templar called from an upper floor window. "Is everything alright? I heard a shout."
"Send for a healer immediately," Cullen shouted up. "The Warden-Commander has been injured."
"Yes, Ser!" the Templar exclaimed, disappearing from the window.
Cullen stood, watching over Gabby, feeling completely at a loss. The urge to touch her, to connect with her, was stronger than ever now, but it was matched by an equally strong revulsion at the very thought of that touch.
"Just go, Cullen," she said defeatedly. "You obviously can't stand to be anywhere near me."
Cullen stood his ground; the gentleman in him forbade him to leave her alone. Gabby, feeling sick and humiliated, said no more. As soon as Cullen spotted a brightly-coloured shape approaching them, he departed, passing the healer without acknowledging him.
"Knight-Commander…" the healer began. "What happened…?" The healer looked on confoundedly as Cullen disappeared around the corner. He groaned and sat down next to Gabby, gently prising her hands away from her head. "Let's take a look at this," he said soothingly.
~O~
Ser Smyth and Ser Bailey arrived at the farm settlement mid-morning the day after they'd set out. Investigating a potential Magi child was one of the Templars' highest priorities; second only to apprehending an apostate, and the two men had ridden hard, stopping only for a brief rest during the night. Neither of them had slept.
They had conversed easily along the way, and had enjoyed a pleasant ride; that conversation now consisted of murmurs and one-word answers as the huge and forbidding fortress of West Hill loomed into view, far up in the hills. Its presence dominated the entire Arling, and the people of Ferelden spoke of it in hushed and awed tones.
"It's rumoured to be haunted, you know," Bailey commented as they stopped on the outskirts of the farm. "This place gives me the creeps."
"More talk of ghosts, Martin?" Smyth scoffed, "I'm surprised at you," he said wryly, although even he could not deny the feeling of unease that had crept up on him the closer they had come to West Hill. "Besides," he ventured, "neither of us have had any sleep. The mind plays tricks."
"You don't fool me, Tristan," Bailey replied. "I saw it in your eyes just then. For the last hour or so I've felt as though we were being watched, or followed."
Although Smyth was a practical man, he, too, had fancied that he felt the presence of someone – or something else – during the latter part of their journey. He glanced momentarily at Bailey, then nodded his head toward the farmhold, and dug his heels into his horse's flanks.
As they approached, a peasant man and woman emerged from the main house and ran up to the Templars. Both of them looked tired and strained.
"Is this the Pelham residence?" Ser Bailey asked politely, as he and Smyth dismounted. Ser Smyth led their horses to a nearby water trough.
"That it be, Ser Knight! Thank the Maker you're 'ere!" the woman cried, falling to her knees, sobbing, grasping Bailey's arm. The man, who they presumed to be her husband, stood silently with his hands clasped over the top of his head.
"Please, calm yourself, good woman," Bailey said, helping the distraught woman to her feet. "You are the child's mother?" he asked.
She nodded her head and wiped her eyes with her sleeves. Bailey took out a clean handkerchief and offered it to her. "Yes, she be my daughter, Ser, Maker 'elp me," she sniffed. "She be inside," she said with wide eyes, gesturing toward the house.
"It's living 'ere what done it," the peasant man opined. "She be cursed!"
Smyth and Bailey exchanged a quick glance. "May we see the child?" Smyth asked.
The child's father pointed toward the house. "She be in there, Ser," he said with obvious fear in his voice. "Please, just take 'er away!" he begged. "We done sent our other two away to a neighbour, for fear o' what she'd do to 'em!"
"What is your daughter's name?" asked Ser Smyth.
"Lorenna, Ser," the child's mother replied. "But we calls her 'Wren,' we does."
The Templars nodded, walked up to the front door, removed their helms, and entered.
The house appeared to be nothing but a large hovel, consisting of three rooms, and was in such a dilapidated condition, it appeared it could collapse at any moment. The Templars trod the bare floorboards very carefully for fear that one of their feet would go through. A stale and fusty odour hung in the air, and the timbers and window frames showed signs of advanced decay. The two Knights gave silent thanks to the Maker for their fortunate position in life.
"Hello?" called Ser Smyth. "Wren? Are you here? We should like to speak with you."
A shuffling sound, then a thud, came from an adjoining room. They entered cautiously and peered around. The room was sparsely furnished, containing only a rickety wooden table, two small chairs and a large wooden trunk. A bowl of cold skilly sat atop the table. Ser Bailey walked over toward the trunk and rapped lightly on the lid. "Wren?" he asked softly. "May we speak with you for a moment?"
"I's not 'ere," a muffled voice spoke from within. The two Knights grinned at one another.
"Well, someone must be in there," Ser Smyth said amiably, "as we are standing right next to the trunk, and can hear them quite clearly."
A red circle of light suddenly appeared on the floor beneath Ser Bailey; magical glyphs and symbols waxed within it. With a flick of his wrist, Ser Bailey dispelled the curse. A shrill gasp came from within the trunk.
"I am afraid that will not work on us, dear child," Ser Bailey said kindly.
The lid of the trunk opened a crack. The glint of a pair of dark, wide eyes became visible. Ser Smyth crouched down and smiled. "Hello," he said. "My name is Tristan, and this is my friend, Martin." Ser Bailey also crouched down and waved at the trunk.
"You's look funny," the muffled voice said with a slight giggle.
"Yes, I expect we do," Ser Smyth agreed. "I bet you've never seen men wearing skirts before, have you?"
The giggle became a snicker. "No, I 'asn't," Wren replied.
"Well, it was nice talking to you, young lady," Ser Smyth said as he stood up, "but I'm afraid we can't stop to chat. We're looking for someone called Wren, but she doesn't appear to be here."
The trunk lid flew open. A tiny, dirt-encrusted girl emerged. Her dark hair was tangled and matted, and her clothes were nothing more than filthy rags. "Watcha want 'er for?" she asked suspiciously.
"Well," Ser Smyth answered, "we wanted to talk to her about her magic. We were told that she can cast spells," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.
"And where we live," Ser Bailey added, "there are many others who can do magic, just like her. We thought she might like to meet them."
Wren stared at them both for several moments, seemingly weighing up their proposal. She sat back down in the trunk and wrapped her hands around her knees, resting her chin on them. "They's scared o' me," she said quietly.
"Well, I'm not scared of you," Ser Bailey boasted, puffing his chest out for effect.
Wren giggled and looked at Ser Smyth. "Nor I," he claimed. The child stared at the floor between the two of them for a moment. A huge, white glyph appeared, encircling both men. "Ah, bringing out your best, eh?" Smyth said with a grin. With a dramatic wave of his arms, the glyph disappeared.
Wren gasped. "You's bein' like me?" she asked in wonderment.
"Not exactly," Smyth responded, "although we live with several people who are like you. In fact, there is a very nice lady named Gabby who is very excited at the thought of meeting you."
"Wha' for?" Wren asked, puzzled.
"Because you're special, that's why," Bailey replied.
"They's says I's cursed," she said darkly, pointing toward the far wall, in her parents' direction.
"They do not understand," Bailey said gently. "They are grown-ups, after all."
A dazzling smile lit up Wren's face. "Where you's be livin'?" she asked curiously.
"Not far from here," Bailey explained. "We live on the middle of a Lake." Wren gasped in astonishment. "There are others like you there," he continued, "who would all love to meet you. You could learn much from them."
"Would you like to see?" Smyth offered.
"Then I comes back 'ere?" she asked.
"How would you like to meet our horses?" offered Bailey, changing the subject.
"'Orses!" she yelled excitedly. "Where?"
"Just outside…" Bailey began. Wren was out of the door before he could finish his sentence.
"Now you mustn't run up to them, my dear," Smyth remonstrated gently as the two men followed her outside. Wren stopped in her tracks. "They're sensitive and frighten easily. Come, walk alongside me."
Wren grasped Smyth's fingers as they walked toward the horses. "Your 'ands are shiny," she said with wonder.
Ser Smyth laughed. "These are called gauntlets, Wren," he informed her, removing one. "See?" I have hands beneath them." Wren took his gauntlet and tried it on for size; it swallowed her entire arm. "It's a little too large for you at the moment," he chuckled.
Wren and the two Templars walked up to the horses. "This is my horse, Keiran," Smyth said, gesturing toward his black gelding.
"And this is my steed, Cronan," said Ser Bailey, taking out a few apples from the pack atop his brown stallion. "Would you like to feed them?" he asked.
Wren nodded her head and took an apple. Smyth led her over to Keiran. She hesitatingly proffered the apple, and laughed when the gelding whinnied and flashed his teeth as he cautiously took it from her. She then fed Cronan, and bravely stroked his nose as he took the apple. Cronan gently nudged Wren with his nose after eating it.
"I think he likes you," Ser Bailey laughed. "Would you like to go for a ride?" he offered. The two Templars tensed involuntarily; this was the part they disliked the most, as it involved a degree of deception on their part.
"Oh, I'd love ter!" she chirped. As Ser Bailey helped Wren onto Cronan, Ser Smyth walked over to the girl's parents and produced a small purse of monies.
"Please accept these alms from the Chantry, to assist your family during the coming winter," he said quietly to Wren's father, who took the purse and nodded quickly, obviously touched at the gesture.
"Good day to you, Ser, Madam," he said with a bow, before turning away and mounting Keiran.
Thankfully, Wren did not see her parents weeping as they clung to each other, watching the two Knights ride away with their daughter, never to return.
~O~
Gabby sat staring gloomily out of a window in her quarters, her head resting on her hand. It was raining again, and she felt as morose and lacklustre as the day itself. The posy she had made earlier lay on the windowsill, picked to pieces.
A knock sounded on her door. Go away, she thought miserably, and decided to ignore it. She picked up what was left of her posy and started to pluck flowers from it, letting them fall to the floor.
The door knocked again. "Gabby?" It was Nathaniel. "Are you in there?"
She sighed heavily, knowing she would have to speak to him eventually. "Come in," she said wearily.
He entered and closed the door. Gabby did not look away from the window, and he approached her cautiously, sitting next to her on a small chair. "How's the plan coming along?" he asked softly.
"It was a stupid plan," she answered sullenly. "He wants nothing to do with me. He's made that very clear."
"What did he say to you?" Nathaniel asked, trying to keep the tone of his voice even.
"He told me to keep out of his way, then nearly took my eye out," she whined.
"He what?" Nathaniel exclaimed. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, it was my own stupid fault," she admitted. "I wasn't looking where I was going. I walked straight into one of his pauldrons, look," she said, showing him the black bruise above her eye.
Nathaniel hissed through his teeth. "A Templar's pauldron?" he said with a grimace, closely examining the bruise. "I bet that bloody hurt."
"He sent for a healer, then just…just walked off," she mumbled. "Didn't even stay to find out how I was," she said sadly. "He obviously doesn't care about me anymore. I feel like such a fool."
"But, he did send for a healer…" Nathaniel ventured.
"Only because another Templar asked what was wrong," she replied, turning to look out of the window again. "If he hadn't done that, Cullen probably would have put me out of my misery," she said petulantly.
Nathaniel tutted and rested his hand on her arm. He was hurt to see his normally ebullient friend so discouraged. A knock sounded at the door.
"Is that all anyone ever does around here?" Gabby cried exasperatedly, "knock on sodding doors?"
"I'll get it," Nathaniel offered, giving her shoulder a squeeze as he went to the door. He stood there for a moment, talking to someone in the hallway. "It's Luke," Nathaniel said, poking his head around the door. "Wants to know how you are."
"Oh, he can come in," she replied.
One of their recruits, Ser Richardson, entered and bowed politely to Gabby. "I heard you had an accident, Warden-Commander," he said with a concerned look. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh, fine, thank you, Luke," she lied. "It was just a bump on the head. Maybe it's knocked some sense into me, who knows!" she chirped, acting as cheerily as she could. She could almost hear Nathaniel saying, 'I doubt it.'
Ser Richardson grinned. "That is good to hear, Warden-Commander," he replied. Nathaniel nudged him. "Oh, erm…Gabby," he said sheepishly.
Gabby managed a smile. "Thank you so much for calling by, Luke," she said genuinely. "I was just wondering, though…how did you hear about this?"
"Oh, erm…someone mentioned it," he mumbled, clasping the back of his neck. Gabby had been around Templars for long enough to know when they were trying their best not to lie.
"Who?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
Ser Richardson sighed and glanced around the room. "Why am I glancing around?" he asked himself with a chuckle. "Alright, this is between us, yes?"
Gabby and Nathaniel frowned and exchanged confused glances. Gabby nodded.
"Well," Richardson said quietly. "The Knight-Commander sent me to check on your condition, but you're not supposed to know that, for some reason."
"Oh," she said softly. Nathaniel smiled warmly.
"I will tell him that you are feeling better," Richardson said. "But you don't know that, either," he whispered conspiratorially.
"Actually," Nathaniel said slyly, "tell him she feels terrible and has an awful headache. And keeps being sick."
"You know I can't do that, Nathaniel," Richardson chided.
"You're not a Templar anymore, you know," Nathaniel replied. "You're a Grey Warden, now. We are allowed to lie."
"Nice try," Richardson laughed. "I'm not a Grey Warden yet." Nathaniel shrugged and opened the door for him. "Good afternoon to you both," he bid them politely.
Nathaniel bowed as Ser Richardson exited. "Good afternoon!" Gabby called. "And thank you!"
Nathaniel closed the door and laughed to see the light return to Gabby's face. She stretched her arms, skipped over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Nathaniel pulled her into a hug. "I take it that stage three is back on, then?" he asked.
"Yes," she said happily. "With bells on!"
