Set in the Western Approach on the eve of the march on Adamant. No particular spoilers.
In the wake of the Fereldan Blight a young Ser Cullen, fresh from his ordeal at Kinloch Hold, arrives in Kirkwall and encounters the woman who will become his trusted mentor
Ten years later, as Marcus prepares to leave Griffon Wing Keep and join the Inquisition forces advancing on Adamant Fortress, Cullen and Alistair find time for a heart-to-heart chat and a bit of swordplay into the bargain.
Back at Skyhold, Leliana receives some unexpected and unwelcome news that could have serious implications for Marcus and Hawke.
***Trigger Warnings***
Reference to violence, psychological torture, drug-use and drug withdrawal.
****Disclaimer****
Dragon Age: Inquisition is copyright to EA Games and I own nothing to do with it (not even that sweet, adorkable, stammering Fereldan cinnamon-roll Cullen 'Maker's Breath!' Rutherford, *sigh*). Characters and situations are used solely for non-commercial entertainment purposes.
Please review and comment, constructive feedback is always welcomed. Many thanks for all the comments and feedback given so far
9:31 Dragon: The Gallows, Kirkwall City.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Knight-Commander Meredith said, noticing how the young Knight stared out of the window facing toward the city. Her words called Cullen back to the present and the long, narrow room the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall used as her office. In truth, his mind had been far away, locked in a dark place, and the grey stone walls felt like they were closing in on him. The blue patch of sky he could see over the city was the one thing stopping him from screaming.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am" he drew himself back to full attention "I should have been listening."
Meredith permitted the boy one of her rare smiles. She stood and walked over to the window, beckoning him to join her. The Grand Chantry dominated the city's skyline, matched only by the pinnacles of the Viscount's Keep. It loomed, rather than soared; a heavy, angular building banded with red and white marble in the old Tevinter style.
"It's the oldest in Southern Thedas, and the largest until they completed the Grand Cathedral" Meredith told him "When the slaves rose up, they tore down the palaces of the Magisters and used the stones to build the Chantry."
Even eight centuries on, Kirkwall's past as a Tevinter slave-city still hung over it; from the stones used to raise its Chantry to the old slaver's fortress, aptly named The Gallows, that now housed Kirkwall's Circle and Commandery. Even on the hottest day the walls felt cold and clammy, the cramped chambers and galleries suffocating in their closeness. Somewhere in his mind Cullen wondered if this were still a game of the demons, some new ploy to break his spirit.
His ordeal hadn't ended with the death of the abominations; his release from Uldred's cage led only to new imprisonment. A Seeker had been sent to determine the truth and the sole captured Templar to survive bore his full scrutiny. A Templar suspected of complicity with abominations could not expect gentle treatment. If guilt could be proven, his living body would be consigned to the flames; with the pious wish that reflecting on Andraste's sacrifice as he burned would win him the Maker's mercy.
He couldn't remember how long it had lasted; deprived of sufficient food, water, sleep or Lyrium, dragged from his cell at any hour to face more questions, more painful, humiliating physical examinations. Always the same questions again and again; in ever changing order and different wordings, designed to catch him in a lie. It was plain that the stern-faced Seeker Ruthven did not believe him, even though Cullen knew his words were the truth and that the Maker defended the honest heart. By the end he doubted if he knew what was true anymore; craving only food, sleep and, most of all, Lyrium. It had taken all his strength not to soil himself the day his cell door opened and two armoured Templars instructed him to follow them, convinced they were leading him to the pyre; instead, Seeker Ruthven informed him of his transfer to Kirkwall and ordered him to prepare for an immediate departure.
On the journey to Kirkwall he learned the Divine had vetoed any extreme measures against the Ferelden Circle; no Annulment, no Tranquillity. The Fereldan Crown 'valued' the service that Mages had given in the defence of the realm and so the laxness of Mages and Templars alike would be overlooked; the suffering and death of good, loyal, men forgotten. The weakness and unfairness of it made him sick and angry, it would be like it never happened…
"...Fereldan refugees still in the city" He hadn't realised Meredith was still speaking "Many of them likely to be apostates, taking advantage of the chaos to hide themselves in the worst slums of Lowtown. Do you have any qualms about rooting them out?"
"I know the crimes Mages are capable of, Ma'am" he replied in a resolute tone "You will not have cause to doubt my dedication."
"No… I don't believe I will" Meredith turned to examine the new Knight-Recruit in the light from the window. He was young, but there was a gauntness about him and a coldness of manner making him seem older than his years. His eyes were unusual, an amber colour that made her wonder if he had any Elvhen ancestry; apparently it wasn't uncommon in some parts of Western Ferelden although it was not something families ever spoke of, especially if they had Chantry affiliations. There was a quality to their expression that was familiar to her. He had seen horrors, and they had made him strong.
Seeker Ruthven was a fool, unable to recognize strength when it was right in front of him, and a weak fool at that. Ferelden Circle should have been Annulled, regardless of any political considerations. That the Divine would bow to secular concerns in such a matter was proof that corruption infested even the highest levels of the Chantry; Maker willing, the situation would not endure much longer and righteous souls would rise to purge the nations of the curse of magic once and for all.
She walked back to her desk and picked up some papers.
"This is Seeker Ruthven's verdict on you" she crumpled them up and threw them into the fire "It does not concern me. Kirkwall is the Forge of the Maker, where the strong are made pure and the weak consumed. I am not interested in what you were, only in the man you will become here. Do you have the will, and the strength, to do His work; no matter what it costs?"
"I am here to serve, Knight-Commander" Cullen squared his shoulders, Meredith's words giving him hope for redemption "Where you lead, I shall follow."
Meredith nodded, favouring the young knight with another smile
"Of that, I have no doubt. Report to the Knight-Bursar, he will assign you quarters."
Ser Cullen dismissed, Knight-Commander Meredith returned to the window and looked across the harbour at the city perched around the bay. Lowtown was at least more honest, it showed its corruption openly; didn't conceal it behind marble walls and silken gowns, fair words cloaking poison and deceit. There was a hard struggle ahead and she needed good men and women, who could be forged into blades of the Maker's will. Kirkwall stood on the edge of a precipice, apostates and blood mages lurked in slum and sewer, the foul Qunari still loitered and spread their blasphemous religion without hindrance; rumour said that even Lord Seamus, the Viscount's heir, listened to their ravings.
Fortunately, it was not Dumar who ruled; he owed his crown to her and she could take it from him just as readily as she did his predecessor. Only Grand Cleric Elthina, theoretically, could overrule her; but the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall was weak, too committed to compromise for her to be a real opponent.
With the right people by her side, the true power in Kirkwall would be the Templar Order. This was a gift from the Maker and, with His grace, she would use it to turn this wicked city into a beacon of righteousness that all Thedas would look to for the truth.
9:41 Dragon: The Western Approach
"I never believed the stories about it glowing in the dark. What do you think causes it?"
It wasn't much of a glow, you could hardly see it at first; but, as you looked deeper into the Abyssal Rift, the shimmering green light that flickered in the depths and along the edges of the broken, charred, rocks became more evident until eventually you couldn't stop seeing it.
Alistair took a final draw on his cheroot and flicked the stub into the Rift, watching the tiny red pinprick vanish into the darkness. He'd picked up the habit from a Tevinter Warden some years ago, less fuss than a pipe. It was dangerous to wander this far from the Keep at night, but the march to Adamant began tomorrow and this might be the last chance they got to see this phenomenon. The Keep was alive with music and laughter; Lord Marcus throwing a feast for the local chiefs in a complex ritual of hospitality to ensure their alliance, and ongoing co-operation with the remaining garrison.
"Those chaps from the university say it's a 'natural phosphorescence' caused by sulphur in the rocks and decaying animal matter..." He pulled his gaze away from the hypnotic glow and stared out towards the horizon "The locals simply call it The Light of Hell, I'm more inclined to agree with them..."
Cullen grunted in amusement
"Solas would no doubt say it was a thinning of the Veil, caused by the long ages of violence and bloodshed in this place, and then a lot of stuff about the Fade that would just give me a headache."
Solas gave him a headache, full stop! Even Leliana hadn't been able to unravel that enigma. He wasn't Dalish, and definitely not a city Elf; claimed to be a self-taught apostate and yet had mastered a style of Elvhen fresco painting believed lost with the fall of Halamshiral. If asked, Solas would probably start explaining how it had been taught to him by spirits of the Fade and, after five minutes, Cullen would need to go and have a lie down somewhere quiet with a damp cloth over his eyes.
"He's a strange one." Alistair agreed "Apart from being a bald Elf, and not trying to make me cry every five minutes, he reminds me a bit of Morrigan..."
Damn! He shouldn't have mentioned her; brought back too many shabby memories. That was the problem with this place, it made him think of how Ferelden might have been if they hadn't stopped the Archdemon, reminded him of what they might still be facing if they were defeated at Adamant. Cullen didn't seem to notice, lost in his own thoughts; he probably wouldn't even know who she was. That one time he saw her, he wasn't really taking too much in…
"Do you think this is another Blight?" Cullen asked eventually, voicing the fear that lurked in the back of all their minds "A Darkspawn Magister, an Archdemon, Wardens hearing the Calling…"
Alistair shook his head
"It doesn't feel like it; I mean all the ingredients are here, but they're not making soup. I would've expected Darkspawn, lots of them. All we've seen are a handful of scattered raiding parties…"
Cullen chuckled slightly at the old Fereldan expression. He'd not heard it for years.
"You think Corypheus has something else in mind?"
Alistair thought about that for a moment. Erimond had called the Blight a tool, and Corypheus its Master. It that was true, then why was he having to resort to false Callings and demon armies when he should be able to unleash a Blight of the same magnitude as the first? Perhaps what Erimond had said was the truth, that Corypheus wanted to rule rather than destroy; Gods need worshippers after all. The ancient Magister's vanity might just be the thing giving them a chance of victory.
"Lord Marcus seems to think this is all connected back to the Fereldan Blight, maybe even before…" he said, eventually, lighting up another cheroot "He might be right. It's funny, when you think about it, all of us here have some connection to it. Even you…"
Shit
Ever since their first, awkward-friendly, conversation at Skyhold, Alistair had carefully avoided the subject of Cullen's experiences during the Blight and Cullen had hardly rushed to talk about it. He'd stuck his foot in the water now, though, might as well wade in and hope nothing got bitten off…
"I wanted to take you with us, when we left Kinloch Hold; you were my friend, I didn't want to leave you there" He paused and took a long draw on his cigar "The others… they weren't eager. I've never been too good at getting my own way. You've probably noticed… I'm sorry"
He winced inwardly at how weak and pathetic that sounded; abandoning Cullen to the mercy of the Order because his new companions didn't want him tagging along… Morrigan had summed up their feelings in her own blunt, cruel, way 'A half-mad Templar frightened by shadows? Other than throwing him at Darkspawn to delay them a moment, what use would he be?'
"I would not have gone with you… nor would you have wanted me with you" Cullen replied quietly, still staring deep into the phosphorescence as if seeing images of his past there "I… was not myself; I was sick… sick in my head for a long time after that; Kirkwall only made it worse, made me worse. The things I've done, the crimes I complied with because I believed them justified… sometimes I wonder if I deserve a second chance…."
"Lady Cassandra seems to think so…" Alistair said "…and Lord Marcus definitely believes that you do; I do, as well, if that means anything…"
"Marcus and Cassandra see the man I'm trying to be; perhaps that makes them too quick to forgive the man I was…" He accepted the cheroot from Alistair. It wasn't a habit he'd ever picked up, but there were times when the feel and taste of the smoke in his mouth was oddly soothing "Hawke's sister died because of me; he took her to the Deep Roads to escape me and she died of Blight there… they were more afraid of me than of the Darkspawn. I ignored what they were doing to the Tranquil, to apprentices, slaughtered Mages at the battle of the Gallows, innocent and guilty alike; it was only when she ordered us to kill the Champion that I finally said no... That's the man I was; Meredith's fucking Mabari!"
Alistair blinked slightly at hearing Cullen swear; for all the man's ferocious temper he rarely, if ever, cursed. He remembered Hawke telling him the story, and about the sheer effort of will it had taken for him not to gut Cullen and feed him alive to the rats the next time he saw him. If he recalled the tale correctly, it had been on that journey to the Deep Roads that they first discovered Red Lyrium; the idol that drove Knight-Commander Meredith insane. Perhaps Marcus was right; this was all part of one long, twisted, tale with much left in the telling. If he still believed, he might see the Maker's Hand in all this.
"Cassandra and Marcus have faith, real faith, they understand repentance; and you do too, otherwise what you did wouldn't hurt so much. They see that you're trying to remake yourself every day; despite the pain…" he took the stub of the cigar back from Cullen, who was now looking at him intently "I lost what faith I had when I saw what the Darkspawn did at Denerim, maybe I never had that much to begin with, and Wardens don't get second chances…"
"Al… that's not true" Cullen tried hard to stop his voice cracking as he spoke "There's always a place for you with the Inquisition, with us…"
"Until the Calling comes for real?" Alistair laughed "Thank you, but you'll have an easier time with Teagan and Anora if I'm not around; besides, you already have Blackwall and he's three times the Warden I'll ever be!"
"But you're my friend…" Cullen objected softly, and something about his voice reminded Alistair of the boys they'd been all those years ago. He put his hand on Cullen's shoulder
"We'll always be friends, Cull; but our paths parted long ago. I'm just glad they've crossed, even if it's only for now…" Their eyes met; to the untrained ear, there was no change in the noises of the night – sounds of revelry from the Keep, sands shifting in the breeze, the distant call of a nocturnal bird. Alistair's voice dropped to a low whisper "…on the count of three; one… two…"
Cullen drew his sword as he spun, in a single fluid move, and blocked the Hurlock's strike; punching the creature hard in the stomach and twisting to one side to avoid its toxic spittle. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alistair drive the boss of his shield into the other Hurlock's face as his blade hacked through the sinews of its knee. A typical small raiding party, two Hurlocks and an Alpha; the Alpha lumbering towards them, swinging a vicious-looking war-maul. The Hurlock leapt towards him again, hissing with rage; Cullen gripped his sword with both hands, driving it up under the creature's jaw, splitting its skull, wrenching his weapon free as he kicked the Darkspawn back into the path of the approaching Alpha.
Alistair finished his Hurlock with a hard slash to the throat, leaving its head hanging by a scrap of skin and sinew. Both men hefted their swords and, nodding at each other, began moving to flank the Alpha…
###
…The men cheered as Cullen and Alistair returned to the feast, bloodied and dusty from the fight, the cheer increasing in volume as they laid the Alpha's helm and war-maul on steps the dais where Marcus and the Chiefs sat
"A trophy for your guests, my Lord" Cullen said, half-smiling "and an apology for our absence…"
The eldest of the chiefs, a sharp-featured old man with startlingly bright grey eyes, turned to Marcus as he applauded
"Is this a custom of your people, Your Worship?"
"It's a custom of my Commander" Marcus shook his head with amused exasperation "He's… uncomfortable without a sword in his hand"
"I approve!" the chief laughed, "One must be vigilant at all times; but the Commander should remember that the Maker of All created hands for more than just fighting…"
It was a shame these Quisiti mages did not marry, the chief thought, this fire-haired young Mage Lord would make a fine son-in-law; but perhaps it was for the best, he was not blind to the glances that passed between the Lord and the Commander of his warriors and a marriage-offer might well have created an unacceptably embarrassing situation…
"If we might trespass on your patience a little longer, my Lords" Cullen continued "We should bathe before re-joining your company…"
"Do let me know if you need a hand scrubbing anything…" Dorian called, cheerfully "especially those finicky, hard-to-reach places!"
"I'm sure we can manage" Cullen laughed. He'd long become accustomed to Dorian's habit of flirting blithely with anyone within earshot, the man was worse than Marcus; he was convinced Dorian would flirt with, and drop innuendos at, his own reflection if there were no-one else around. Alistair still blushed furiously every time though; some things, at least, had never changed.
"I've no doubt you can!" Dorian called back, then leaned across to Marcus; his voice dropping to a sly whisper "Perhaps you should have them chaperoned? I've heard that strange things can happen in steam-baths…"
"And I'm reasonably certain you've done most of them…" Marcus chuckled in response
"Most of them?" Dorian exclaimed in mock affront "My dear Inquisitor, I think I've added a few to the list…"
###
Cullen gasped as the cold water hit his skin, shaking his head like a dog, and passed the dipper to Alistair.
"Is today the first time we've drawn sword together, for real…?" he asked as Alistair gritted his teeth in preparation for dousing himself in freezing water. Apparently, this improved the circulation; he wasn't sure if the hammam was an efficient way of keeping clean in a desert climate, with minimal water wastage, or a very refined form of torture.
"I think so" Alistair replied, as soon as he got his breath back "It was… fun"
It had been fun, the two of them whooping like boys as they cut the Alpha down together. In a corner of his mind he wished that Duncan had recruited Cullen as well, but the younger Templar had already taken his vows; Ser Gregoire had postponed Alistair's vigil, deeming him still too 'facetious' for such a serious step so, instead of Lyrium addiction, he'd got the Taint. Was that better or worse? Old Grey Wardens were a rarity, usually men or women recruited later in life, most never made it past their mid-40s if they didn't die in battle first. From what Cullen said, fighting the addiction could still kill him or drive him mad; there was little pattern to the severity of the symptoms and the struggle took a heavy toll on his constitution. Then there were the nightmares… It didn't look as if either of them were going to make old bones, even if they survived Adamant. Poor Lord Marcus…
"She only spoke about you once…" he said, eventually. Cullen turned his head to look at him, he didn't need to ask who 'she' was "She didn't blame you for the things you said, the way you reacted to her… she could see you weren't in your right mind. She said… she said she hoped you might find some peace eventually. Have you?"
Cullen stared at the floor in silence. He could barely recall Solona, if truth be told, only the faintest memories of her face and the obscene abuse he hurled at her when they found him in the Tower; but it mattered to him, hearing that at least she had understood and wished him well…
"I don't know… perhaps I never will; but I can hope for it now and that's more than I ever could before…"
"You're lucky to have Marcus; a man can find real strength in a love like that…" He laughed at the look Cullen gave him. He wasn't that naïve; even in puritanical Ferelden, the handsome young Templar novice had fended off the interest of some of the Knights "Cull, you don't need to pretend; I've travelled enough around Orlais and the Free Marches to know about these things. Never really bothered me anyway; just always thought it sounded a bit uncomfortable…"
Cullen grinned suddenly, despite his reputation as being humourless he had a dry wit of his own and enjoyed a good jest in the right mood; just now, he damn well needed one…
"Well…" he said, gesturing evocatively with his hands "It's not too bad as long as you…"
Alistair screwed his eyes shut and clamped his fists against his ears
"LALALALALALALALALA…"
###
"This arrived for you a few minutes ago, Sister Nightingale" the servant handed the message to Leliana and bowed to the two women before leaving. Leliana cracked the seal and unfolded the paper as Josephine poured more tea. The Lady Ambassador noticed the way her friend pursed her lips and frowned; clearly whatever it said was unwelcome.
"Is it from the Inquisitor?" She asked, anxiously; all Skyhold was on edge, awaiting news from the west "Nothing bad, I hope?"
Leliana shook her head
"Just an update from one of my agents elsewhere, I'll deal with it later" She refolded the message and slipped it into the pouch at her belt "Now, tell me more about the Marquise de Solanges…"
It was clearly more than that, Josephine could tell, but it was also pointless to try and push Leliana if she was unwilling to share. Hopefully whatever this was wouldn't cause too many diplomatic repercussions….
"Well, it appears that the Marquise and the Chevalier de Jiffry…"
Leliana allowed the latest gossip from Val Royeaux to flow over her, background music to her thought process as she considered the implications of what she'd just read. Only a few words, numbers and letters, meaningless to anyone ignorant of the cipher, but with dangerously unpredictable consequences…
Anders spotted in Kirkwall, meeting with agent of Watch Commander Vallen. Suspect unknown third party also observing. Please advise. Tanner
