Guardian

Cullen

Winter lingered that year, which Cullen appreciated. Even if it meant more sleet and rain and ice and mud, it also meant staving off the unbearable heat for that much longer. Sometimes he found himself nostalgic for a proper Fereldan winter, with hip-high snow drifts from Harvestmere to Drakonis.

Though, in his more sensible moments, he would concede to himself that the mild winters made for easier training. He stood at the edge of the practice yard, observing the new recruits as they went through their exercises in the gusting wind.

"That one," he said to Knight-Lieutenant Hector and gestured at one of the recruits. "What's her name? Isn't it… Charity or something?"

"Chastity, Knight-Commander," Hector said.

"Yes, Chastity," Cullen rubbed his chin, watching her movements. "She's a bit shaky with that shield. See how she does with some Hunter exercises. She might be better suited—"

"Message for you, Knight-Commander," one of the pages interrupted.

Cullen looked down at the boy, irritated at being interrupted. "Is it, now. And I suppose there's a very good reason this could not wait until I had finished my business here?"

The page looked down, daunted. "It's… er… from the Knight-Vigilant, Knight-Commander."

Cullen's jaw snapped shut as he took the letter from the page. "You have my thanks," he said before spinning on his heel and striding quickly to his office.

Cullen remained seated at his desk as Ser Keran and Ser Carver entered. They both were attempting to keep their expressions even, but he knew the two men well enough to notice the small, tell-tale signs of anxiety. Keran kept running the tip of his index finger over the edge of his thumbnail, and Carver kept sniffing and subtly shifting his shoulders.

"Sit," Cullen said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk.

The two young Templars obeyed immediately, sitting with their backs straight and their hands in their laps, gazing at him impassively. He granted them a small smile and nod of approval before speaking. "I suppose you're wondering why I summoned you."

The two men were silent for a while. "Was a bit curious, have to admit," Carver said finally. Keran simply nodded.

Cullen leaned back in his chair, sighing unhappily. This was not going to be easy for any of them. "I received a message. From the Knight-Vigilant. She has recalled me to the White Spire."

Keran's brow furrowed slightly in confusion, though he remained silent. Carver's mouth flattened grimly. He clearly understood what was happening. "Don't suppose she's in urgent need of anybody else, is she?" Carver asked with his customary sarcasm.

Cullen took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out slowly. "She also summoned the two of you."

Carver nodded, expression turning even more grim, as Keran's face finally betrayed his befuddlement. "But.. Why?" Keran asked.

Cullen pushed himself away from the desk and stood up, turning to the window and holding his hands behind his back. "How much do you know of the Viscountess and the White Divine, Keran?"

Keran sighed. "That… there was some disagreement. That the White Divine wanted her to go to Val Royeaux and she didn't, and she's not supposed to get married now for some reason but she is anyway."

Cullen nodded. "That's… accurate. If incomplete. Officially, the White Divine wishes to test her for blood magic. Unofficially, she wishes to torture and execute her."

"I don't care what she is. Or who wants her. She's my sister. I won't let that happen," Carver growled softly.

"Why would the White Divine want to?" Keran asked, completely lost. "She saved us from the Qunari and the abomination. And…" he shifted a bit, "she saved me from the blood mages. Why would the White Divine want to…" he trailed off.

Cullen stared out the window at the low hanging clouds scudding across the sky. There would be rain soon. He made a mental note to tell the Knight-Lieutenant to bring the recruits in before it started. They wouldn't know how to clean their gear properly yet, and rusty armor was a headache he didn't want to deal with.

"Because," he said, feeling suddenly weary, "the Viscountess is an ambitious mage who has managed to elude the Chantry her entire life. Her fate will serve as an example to other apostates. Or nobles who would marry mages, I suppose."

"Sodding nonsense is what it is," grumbled Carver. "And you can put me in the stocks for insolence, Knight-Commander, but I won't change my mind and I won't keep my mouth shut. My sister is a good woman, mage or no. You would think the White Divine would want more mages like her. Not kill one of the best there is." He shifted in his seat. "Don't tell her I said that."

"Wait," Keran said, a note of growing horror in his voice. "The White Divine wants the Viscountess to go to Val Royeaux. The Knight-Vigilant wants us to go to Val Royeaux…"

"Andraste's tits," spat Carver. "Of all the heartless, cruel, unnecessary…" he fumed.

Cullen stared that the clouds, as memories of the Tower swirled. Greagoir's stony expression as he handed him the greatsword on their way to the Harrowing Chamber. Amell standing in front of the lyrium font with Irving. The cold, dead feeling in his heart, knowing what he was expected to do, should it become necessary. "Yes. They wish us to deliver her to the Grand Inquisitor."

"Is this a test?" Keran wondered aloud. "They want to know where our loyalties lie?"

There was as silence as all three pondered what this meant for them. Carver spoke first. "What do you want us to do, Knight-Commander?" he asked, his voice perfectly neutral.

"I want you…" And a flood of memories following that day rushed in. The Uprising. His breakdown. Arriving in Kirkwall. Meredith's clarity of purpose, dragging him out of his fog of confusion. How he almost lost himself in that clarity, pulling back before her madness consume him, too. Meeting Laica on the Wounded Coast. The Chantry exploding. Laica weeping over Anders' corpse. The Harvester. Laica. Meredith trying to kill Laica. Laica and the demon. Sparring with Laica. Arguing with Laica. Praying for Laica. Longing for Laica. He shook himself out of his reverie.

"Do what your conscience dictates," he said, turning to face them. "And I will do the same."