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In Uthenera and The Noladar Anthology of Dwarven Poetry belong to Bioware.
With Gabby's enthusiasm and optimism restored, she resumed a little sewing project she had been working on. Nathaniel, finding himself at a loose end, sought out Sers Willoughby and Ballard for some archery instruction. Ser Richardson was currently on duty, but said he would endeavour to join them later. Nathaniel had obtained permission from the Tower's cook to clear some space in the dining hall for their session, promising to return it to order well before supper, as the rain prevented them from using the training yard. He and Ser Willoughby had hurriedly brought in a training dummy from outside.
"Have either of you ever held a bow before?" Nathaniel asked the Templars, both of whom shook their heads.
"Templars are never trained in archery," Ser Willoughby shrugged. "There's no need for it."
Nathaniel shook his head in consternation. "There is always a need to be skilled with a long-range weapon," he said with a frown. "What if you were attacked from a distance, when away from the Tower?"
"We tend not to get attacked," Willoughby replied. "Bandits are not foolish enough to engage us, and if we encounter any errant mages, we can dispel them from a distance. Most people look upon the Templars as mighty warriors without equal," he said wryly, "and therefore find us intimidating. Who are we to quell that notion?"
"Just don't tell them we can't use bows," Ser Ballard whispered with a grin on his face, "or that notion would be well and truly stuffed!"
Nathaniel laughed. "Well, I intend to remedy that," he declared. "You really will be warriors without equal if you become proficient with a long-range weapon, as well as your sword." He instructed the two Knights to remove their breastplates, pauldrons and gauntlets, then gestured for them to stand at either side of him.
"Relax your legs, and stand with your knees slightly bent," he instructed them. "If your legs are too stiff, it will hinder the flexibility of your waist, and may cause you to jar your back if you turn suddenly." The Templars copied his stance as advised.
"Now," he continued, holding out his bow, "hold the bow out in front of you, with your elbow slightly bent." The Templars could only watch at this stage, as they only had Nathaniel's bow between the three of them. "If your arm is too rigid, it may start to tremble slightly, thus hampering your aim." He then instructed them on the correct way to grip the bow. "Do not wrap your hand around it, but rather rest it against your thumb," he demonstrated. "Gripping it tightly with the entire hand will tense your arm, which, may in turn, cause it tremble."
Nathaniel nocked an arrow and drew the string back, instructing his students to observe the positioning of his fingers. "Conn, tell me where to aim for," he said.
"Erm, left eye," Conn replied. "His left."
Nathaniel took aim at the dummy at the far end of the room. He released the arrow, which flew straight and true directly at the dummy's left eye, bouncing off the hard wood and clattering to the floor. Ballard and Willoughby applauded.
"Well done, Ser," said Willoughby, slapping Nathaniel on the back. "How long have you been doing this for?"
"Since I was a young lad," Nathaniel replied, "and I'm 30 now. Close to…25 years, I suppose."
"We could never be that good, then," Conn remarked, feeling a little discouraged.
Nathaniel shook his head. "I wouldn't say that," he replied. "And you don't always need to be as accurate as that in combat. If you were firing at a real person, a bandit for example, your aim could be a few inches out, and you may still hit him."
"Really?" Conn said with a grin. "Could…I have a go?"
"Of course!" Nathaniel replied, pleased at the lad's enthusiasm. He handed the bow to Conn and reminded him of his stance and how to properly hold it. Nathaniel then stood behind him and helped him to raise the bow and nock an arrow.
"Aim just above your target," he instructed, "as the arrow will drift downward slightly during flight…yes, good," he said approvingly. "Now concentrate on your target, Conn," he said quietly. "Let nothing distract you. Nothing else exists but your target. Allow your eyes to blur everything else surrounding it. Take aim at the left eye, and release the arrow."
Conn nodded solemnly and took aim, concentrating hard. The arrow whistled through the air, hitting the training dummy's left shoulder. Ser Willoughby applauded again, and slapped Conn on the back. "Beginner's luck, eh, lad?" he said.
Nathaniel looked at Conn intently, his eyes slightly narrowed. "I don't believe in luck," he stated. "Do it again, Conn, this time without my help."
Conn grinned and nocked another arrow. Nathaniel made a couple of minor corrections to his stance and stood back. "Just aim a tad higher this time, Conn," he advised.
This time the arrow hit the training dummy's chin. "Yes!" Conn cried in triumph.
"Again," Nathaniel instructed, his calm voice belying his excitement. Conn's third shot flew just past the dummy's left ear, hitting the wall behind it. "Well, young man," Nathaniel said proudly, shaking his hand. "It would appear you're a natural."
Conn's face flushed red and he beamed from ear to ear. "Meredith, let's see how you fare," said Nathaniel, taking the bow and handing it to Willoughby.
~O~
Cullen received the day's post from Kester and rifled through it as he sat at his desk. Most of it was addressed to either him or Smyth. One envelope was written in beautiful and flowing script, but the handwriting was almost indecipherable. He read it several times, then the words suddenly leapt out at him:
Gabby Surana, Commander of the Grey and all of her lowly vassals of Amaranthine, c/o the Circle Tower of Magi, Lake Calenhad, N.W. Ferelden.
Does she really call herself that? he wondered with a snort. Perhaps as a joke? He set the letter aside and began opening his, deciding that he could pass her letter onto another Templar to take up to her room. As he went through his correspondence, his eyes kept wandering to her letter. It might be urgent, he thought. He shook his head and turned away from it as he read his own letters. After a while, however, he found he could not concentrate on them; her letter kept coming back into his thoughts. He could almost feel its presence behind him, urging for him to take it up to her room.
He rose to his feet with a sigh and grabbed the letter. It might be urgent, he justified to himself, and exited his office.
On the way, he passed several Templars he could have passed the letter to. They might get the wrong room, he justified to himself. I'll take it. I don't expect I'll see her anywhere on the way up, he thought, trying to convince himself that he did not want to see her on the way up, and was not the slightest bit interested in seeing how her eye was. He passed the dining hall, and stopped and frowned at the sight of Meredith Willoughby shooting arrows uselessly at the far wall.
He walked through the library, where the mages' lessons were taking place, and shuddered at the throbbing sensation of magic against his skin. He very rarely walked through the library at this time of day unless it was unavoidable. I need a walk, he justified to himself. My morning walk was disrupted.
He reached the third floor and breathed a sigh of relief. The Senior Enchanters' quarters were usually deserted at this time of day, and he could sense no magic up there. He hoped that nobody else was around; he had no real reason for being on that floor, and didn't want any of…the mages talking to him. I'm the Knight-Commander of this Tower, he justified to himself. I don't need a reason to be up here.
His pace slowed as he drew nearer to her room, then he stopped altogether and listened intently. He could hear singing. He recognised the voice, but not the song. It sounded elvish to him.
Vir sulahn 'nehn
Vir dirthera
Vir samahl la numin
Vir lath sa 'vunin
It was indeed an elvish song, one that Leliana had sung one night whilst at camp during the Blight. Gabby had loved it so much, she had asked the bard to teach it to her, and sang it every now and again when she felt nostalgic.
Cullen leaned back against a wall and closed his eyes, and, for a moment, he was no longer the Knight-Commander of the Tower; but was merely Cullen, waiting in the corridor, as he did each morning, listening for the sound of her enchanting voice.
He sighed and shook his head, snapping himself back to reality, and looked at the letter for a moment. Gabby Surana. Gabby. The name seemed to leap out at him. He suddenly realised he was sweating and breathing rapidly.
His stomach tightened as her siren song continued to drift down the corridor, luring him to his doom. Fatally captivated by her voice, his legs carried him to her door. The singing had stopped. He closed his eyes and clenched his fist, poised to knock on her door. She then started to sing again, a rather jauntier tune this time, taught to her by Sigrun:
Do you like fried mush and nug?
I do not like them Mister Klug
I do not like fried mush and nug
Would you eat them on a rug?
If you eat, you'll get a hug!
Cullen took a step back from the door, staring at it as though it had just told him it was the Second Coming of Andraste. Gabby continued with her song:
I would not eat them on a rug
From you I would not want a hug
Then would you drink them from a jug?
Come on, come on, give them a chug!
I would not drink them from a jug
I'd rather eat a slimy slug…
The spell broken, he shoved the letter under her door and beat a hasty retreat. Without her realising it, stage three of Gabby's plan was now complete.
~O~
Gabby looked up from her sewing as a letter was pushed under her door. She frowned, walked over to the door and opened it, looking up and down the corridor. No one was around. "Hello?" she called. No answer. She picked the letter up and grinned as she recognised the writing. "Well, thank you!" she said to the empty corridor, and closed the door.
"Commander of the Grey and all of her lowly vassals of Amaranthine," she read to herself with a chuckle. "Anders, you prat!" she laughed, shaking her head, as she opened the letter.
Ho there, Gabs,
What are you up to at the Tower, then? Oh, hang on. You won't be there, yet, will you?
Gabby looked at the date at the top of the letter. He'd sent it the day after she and Nathaniel had set out. "You daft sod!" she said out loud.
It's so boring here without you. I thought there would be a bit of a diversion when the dwarf challenged me to a drinking game, but I found him passed out before it was due to start! So I decided I'd won that one. Remember that time when you raided the vault containing the darkspawn blood, and we took our Joining again? Now that was a drinking game!
There's nobody here to have fun with. You even took Nate with you! At least I can get a rise out of him. I hope you're calling him 'Nate,' all the time like we agreed. You know how much that pisses him off!
Well, at least we can get dressed up for the wedding, eh? I know you don't want to go, really, so how about we get hammered before we set out? That way, we won't remember any of it, and we might even do something embarrassing to humiliate King shithead! What's not to like about that? And I wasn't really going to wear that robe, you know. I actually have a very tasteful black and yellow spotted number for occasions of state. Joke. Sorry, crap, I know.
Anyway, hurry up and come home. I miss you already. (But give that bastard Greagoir a bit of stick before you do!)
Anders. xx
Gabby read the letter a few more times, placed it back into the envelope and kissed it before tucking it into her robe pocket. "I miss you, too," she said to herself with a fond smile.
~O~
Nathaniel returned a little later and stopped by Gabby's quarters. As she made some tea, he sat at her table, which was covered in pieces of fabric, some of it quite exotic looking. "What's all this?" he asked, sifting through the material. "Are these mages' robes? Where did you get them? They don't look like any of yours."
"From the stockroom," she replied. "Owain had tons of them." She suspected that some of them had belonged to the mages who were lost during the revolt at the Tower, but had decided not to ask.
"What are you doing with them?" he enquired.
"This," she said proudly, holding up a tiny silver and white robe, with a pink belt and fabric corsage to the left shoulder. "It's for the little girl," she explained. "I didn't want her to feel left out when she gets here."
"You made that?" Nathaniel asked, clearly impressed.
Gabby nodded. "I'm working on a second one. Hopefully it will be finished by the time she arrives," she said, rubbing her eyes.
"I didn't even know you could sew!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to tell me, I've been darning my own socks – a woman's job, I might add - all this time, when I could have given them to you?"
"Just try asking me the next time," she challenged. "See what answer you get."
"I can imagine," he muttered. "Two words: Last one, 'off.'"
"Precisely," she answered, passing him his tea. "How did the archery go?" she asked.
"Well," Nathaniel replied with uncharacteristic excitement, "I was wrong about Meredith. He couldn't take to it. I think he'd be more comfortable with a crossbow. "But," he said, leaning forward, "Conn was born to use a longbow. I really think we should concentrate on that more than his sword work."
"Really?" Gabby asked with a smile. She leaned on the table and drummed her fingers against it, her smile fading suddenly.
"What's the matter?" Nathaniel asked.
"I was just thinking of how fond I've become of Conn," she replied quietly. "And that's the last thing I should allow myself to do. When we go home, he'll have to take the Joining. They all will."
Nathaniel looked down at the floor, realising that he, too, had formed friendships with the Templars, particularly Ballard and Richardson. "I know," he said quietly. "Do you think we should talk to them?" he asked. "I don't mean tell them," he added quickly, "but merely drop a few hints, like you did with Anders and I."
"What would you have done, Nathaniel, if I'd told you everything before your Joining?" Gabby enquired.
"Why?" he asked. "You're not thinking of revealing all to the Templars, are you?"
"No," she replied quickly, "although I did with Anders before he took his Joining."
"Did you?" he asked in surprise.
Gabby nodded her head. "I conscripted him – I left him with no choice," she responded. "I felt it was only fair."
"But you did it to save his life," Nathaniel reminded her.
"And that's what I thought I was doing with Conn," she mumbled, her voice growing quieter. "At least, I thought I was saving him from an horrific punishment." She turned away from Nathaniel and looked out of the window. "I was wrong, though, wasn't I?" she said with a slump of her shoulders.
"No, Gabby," Nathaniel reassured her. "I think you were right to do what you did. I would have done the same, in your position."
"Really?" she asked, turning around to face him. He nodded. "Well, that means a lot, Nathaniel…really, it does," she said quietly.
"Has this been on your mind all of this time?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied, turning to face the window again. "Just like your Joining was, and Anders', and Oghren's, and Sigrun's…and…Mhairi's. The people I got to know beforehand...became fond of."
Nathaniel stood up and walked over to the window, leaning against the wall next to Gabby. "This is the worst part of being Warden-Commander, isn't it," he said sympathetically. "Well, if you want my opinion, I think we should tell them what you told me: That the Joining is potentially dangerous, and that becoming a Warden carries many sacrifices," he suggested. "Nothing more than that."
Gabby sighed and slipped her arm through one of Nathaniel's. "You're right as always, dear friend," she said with a thin smile.
"I'm not always right," he grinned back at her. "I planned to kill you, once, remember?" he said sheepishly. "I'm glad I changed my mind about that."
"Not half as glad as I am, believe me!" Gabby exclaimed, and the two of them shared a hearty laugh.
~O~
Later that day, Ser Richardson sought out Nathaniel for an archery lesson. Richardson proved to have little aptitude for it, as had Willoughby, and the two men moved the dining tables and chairs back into position, as supper was due to be served shortly.
Gabby finished off the second robe for the little girl, although she wasn't entirely satisfied with it, and felt it could be improved. She hung it up and resolved to continue with it the following day, as her vision had started to blur from all of the close work. She lit a few candles in her room as the sun had begun to set, and penned a quick response to Anders' letter.
She took her letter and made her way down to the first floor. She fancied a walk, and, although Kester would not be taking any post across the Lake until the following day, he would still take the letter from her, and she would get some much-needed fresh air in the process. Furthermore, if she was lucky, she thought, she might bump into Cullen on the way.
Her luck was in. Cullen stood outside his office door, issuing orders to two Templars when she passed by. She could feel his eyes on her as she approached the main door, and the sentries stationed there began the involved process of opening it for her.
"Just a moment," Cullen said from behind her. Gabby turned around to face him, and immediately saw his gaze go to her bruised eye, before moving to the floor. "Erm…you do realise that Kester doesn't take the post until morning, don't you?" he reminded her, idly fiddling with his gauntlets.
"Yes, Cullen," she said affably. "I used to live here, remember? I fancied some fresh air, anyway."
"Of course," he replied, and turned to enter his office.
"How is your pauldron?" she asked impishly.
He turned to face her. "My…what?" he asked quietly.
She walked over to him. "This," she said, tapping his shoulder guard with her finger. "I didn't dent it or anything, did I?"
Cullen cleared his throat. "Erm, no," he replied, suddenly aware that she was standing very close to him.
"Good!" she replied, then looked at him for a moment, a joyous smile slowly forming on her face.
"What!" he said sharply, feeling discomfort at her scrutiny. "What is it?"
Gabby tapped her cheek and pointed at Cullen's face, before turning away from him and exiting through the main door, which was now open.
Cullen suddenly realised what she had meant as he felt his cheeks burning. He hurriedly entered his office and closed the door firmly, his face as red as his skirt.
~O~
Cullen found sleep hard to come by that night. Each time he closed his eyes he saw her. When his eyes were open, he heard her singing. I mustn't think about her! he scolded himself. I'll dream about her if I do! And dreaming about her usually ended with him screaming himself awake, or being left with an altogether different predicament, which he had to shamefully relieve himself of.
He folded his arms across his chest and concentrated on breathing through his nose. He pictured a single white point of light in his mind, and focused on that, and nothing else, as he gradually entered a meditative state. He felt his body grow heavy.
He stood facing one of the Tower's many statues. He had been stripped to the waist, his hands bound together, and his arms had been raised above his head, tied to the head of the statue. His shoulder and back muscles screamed out for relief, but he could not move his arms. "Please," he begged. "Let me put my arms down."
"All in good time," Uldred said coldly as one of his hideous abominations led three Templars into the room, who were also stripped to the waist. "Yes, their blood should suffice," he said to himself. "If we need more, we'll use his mage slut. What was her name? Gabrielle?"
"What?" Cullen cried, desperately trying to struggle free of his bonds. "You're lying!" he yelled. " She's not here! She died at Ostagar!"
"I didn't die at Ostagar," Uldred replied, "and neither did she. Your pretty Warden friend is in the Tower, right now," he said truthfully. "She and her goons are coming for me, it seems," he said with a mocking laugh.
"I don't believe you!" Cullen spat, his voice wavering a little.
"Oh, but the tone of your voice tells me that you do!" Uldred cried triumphantly, dramatically throwing his arms up. "What if Uldred's telling the truth?" the blood mage mocked, imitating Cullen's voice. "What if my darling girl is in danger? Oh, Maker help me!" he sneered and stepped closer to Cullen. "But she is in danger, dear fellow, be certain of that," he said menacingly.
He stepped away from Cullen and instructed the Templars to stand closer to their brother. "Defend yourselves!" Cullen shouted at them, quickly silenced as he looked upon their blank faces and dead eyes. "What have you done to them, you bastard?" he cried, again vainly trying to wriggle free.
"Such coarse language from a child of the Chantry," Uldred admonished. "Your friends here are going to help me. The spell I tested on you yesterday was not strong enough for my purposes…"
"No, please," Cullen begged. "Not that again!"
"…so these fellows will provide me with the power I need," Uldred continued, ignoring him. "Allow me to demonstrate."
Uldred's abomination stepped behind one of the Templars and held a knife to his throat. "No, Uldred! Please!" Cullen implored.
"Silence!" Uldred snapped and turned and nodded at his lackey. The creature pulled the Templar's head back and dug the knife deep into his throat. A rivulet of blood flowed freely from the hapless Knight as he slumped to the floor. Cullen began to weep.
"Ah, yes!" Uldred said breathlessly. "I can feel it flowing through me! It is magnificent!"
Cullen screamed as he felt the full force of Uldred's spell slam into his back. "Please!" he sobbed wretchedly. "Just kill me and be done with it! Why are you doing this to me?"
"Why?" Uldred said angrily. "Why? Because you refused to join me, that's why! I am going to kill every single Templar in this Tower – and you are going to help me do it!" He walked over to Cullen and whispered in his ear. "This is your last chance, Templar – either you join us, or you spend the rest of your miserable existence as my plaything!"
"Never!" Cullen yelled, drawing from the last reserves of his fortitude. "Do what you will, maleficar, I will never submit to you, or any of your kind!"
"Really?" Uldred seethed. "Kill the other two together," he ordered his servant. "Let's see how much damage I can really do."
The abomination dispatched the two remaining Templars in quick succession. Uldred grunted almost orgasmically as the power of their blood flowed into him. He released his pent-up energy directly at his victim's bare back; Cullen's resulting screams reverberated through the entire fourth floor, and his arms were nearly pulled out of their sockets as his legs gave way, and he swung limply from the rope binding his hands together.
"You see how the skin on his back has become malformed?" Uldred said remorselessly to his servant, then cocked his head to the side and sighed. "He's had enough for now," he said as he prodded the now semi-conscious Cullen. "He really is no sport at all when he can no longer register pain. Put him back in the cage."
~O~
"Cullen?" A quiet, hesitant voice spoke. "Oh, Cullen, it is you! Thank the Maker you're alive!"
Cullen looked up; he had been returned to the cage. A red-headed elven mage stood outside the magical field. "Gabby?" he said shakily. "Is that really you?"
"Yes, it is I," she confirmed, gazing at Cullen as tears spilled down her cheeks. "Have they hurt you?"
"No," he replied, "although they have tried." He looked at her longingly for a moment and let out a ragged sigh. "Gabby," he whispered, "you have to get out of here. Uldred will return at any moment."
A knock on the head brought him round. He lay on the floor next to his bed, entangled in his sheets. He'd banged his head against his bedside cabinet as he thrashed in his sleep. He sat up and drew his knees to his chest, resting his elbows on them as he covered his face with his hands. Thankfully he'd woken before Gabby - before the demon - had…
Shaking that thought from his mind, he disentangled himself from his sheets and rose to his feet, rubbing the tender spot on the side of his head. He began pacing the room, before halting in front of the window and staring out over the black waters of Lake Calenhad. "This has to stop," he said to the darkness.
Pulling on a loose shirt, leggings and boots, he opened his bedroom door and ventured out into the corridor. All was quiet. He began the long walk round to the exit to the third floor, not passing a single Templar on his way.
He paused at the exit door, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. I have to do this, or I will never find peace, he resolved. As he opened the door, the sentry at the foot of the steps turned around in surprise. "Is everything alright, Knight-Commander?" the Templar asked.
"Yes," Cullen mumbled in reply as he descended. "Just…stretching my legs."
"Very good, Ser," the Templar replied as Cullen continued on his way.
Cullen's hands began to tremble as he approached his destination. He felt a gentle hum against his skin as he approached the door. What is that? he wondered. Is it magic? It's very faint, if it is.
He looked around, then rested his hands and forehead against the door, taking several deep breaths. I have to do this, or I will never find peace, he thought once again, though his heart beat a wild, erratic rhythm in his chest, and his hands shook violently as he balled them into fists. His mind still fogged by the vestiges of sleep, he slowly pushed the door open and peered into the room, allowing a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
The room was not in complete darkness, however; a tiny Spell Wisp hovered by the window, casting a weak, sickly luminescence over the centre of the room; jagged shadows rose at odd angles from the utter blackness in its corners. Only the sound of soft breathing could be heard within. He stepped inside, his own breathing painfully laboured, and fixed his gaze on the bed.
There she lay, her head lolled back and her mouth hanging open. One arm was tucked underneath the pillow, behind her head; the other rested lightly on her chest. He listened to her breathing for a moment and watched her chest rise and fall, as halting half-snores accompanied her inhalations. I have to do this, or I will never find peace, he repeated silently to himself.
His brow knotted and a cold wave of dread and fear shimmied down his body as he took one step forward, then another. He realised he was panting and took several slow, steadying breaths.
Please don't wake up. I have to do this or I will never find peace.
He leaned over Gabby's bed, dashing sweat from his forehead as he extended a trembling hand, and held his breath as he moved it toward her throat.