Ser Talbot watched irritably as Ser Lucy walked back and forth outside Nathaniel's room. "Will you stop that," he sniped. "I'm trying to listen to what they're saying, and I can't hear a blasted thing because of your boots."
Lucy stopped and cast a petulant look in Talbot's direction. "How long have they been in there, now?" he asked. "It must be getting on for half an hour."
"Ssh!" Talbot intoned, thrusting his palm into the air. "I can hear something…raised voices."
"You ask too much of me, Warden. I will not go against my brothers like that," said Ser Ambrose from within the room.
"Your brothers?" Varel replied with a mocking laugh. "Those brothers of yours are a disgrace to your order! They have lied, cheated, bullied, threatened and intimidated their way through this balls-up of an investigation…"
"There is no need for coarse language, Seneschal Varel!" Ambrose said indignantly.
"I thought you were a good man!" Nathaniel yelled in a rare outburst. "I thought you were decent, but you're just like the rest of them, aren't you? This was a waste of time, Varel! Go on – get out of here! I hope you choke on your hollow prayers!"
"How dare you!" Ambrose bit back. "You deserve everything you get!"
Lucy and Talbot scrambled away from the door as it flew open, feigning nonchalance as Ambrose slammed it shut and stalked down the corridor in a huff.
"Good," said Talbot with a satisfied grin. "We won't need to worry about him."
"What about Varel?" asked Lucy.
"Go and assemble our witnesses," Talbot commanded. "Varel won't be able to argue against the testimony of five people, and, if he does, I have plans for him."
"You can't just make everyone disappear, Gideon!" Lucy whispered harshly.
"Why not? We'll say he attacked us, or something," Talbot drawled with a shrug.
"No! This is getting out of hand! We are going to have to explain our actions at some point!" Lucy exclaimed in panic, his breath forced out as a gasp as Talbot backed him against a wall.
"Your cowardice does not befit a knight of Andraste!" Talbot growled. "Now, get downstairs, and get those witnesses together, before I make you disappear!"
"Take your hands off me!" Lucy seethed, pushing against Talbot's breastplate and breaking away from him.
"Now look what you've made me do," said Talbot, taking out a handkerchief and mopping his brow. "Well, what are you waiting for? The second coming of the Maker? The witnesses – now!"
"Get them yourself!" Lucy retaliated and turned on his heel. "I'm not your damned servant," he muttered as he walked away.
Talbot groaned to himself and waited for a few moments until he was certain the childish Lucy had departed, and then made his way down to the third floor.
Once Talbot had passed through the exit leading to the stairs, a release of breath could be heard from the shadows behind the door. Having heard every word of the exchange between the two Templars, a man emerged from his hiding place, waited until he could no longer hear Talbot's footfalls, and, with a glint of steel, and a flash of magenta, disappeared from the fourth floor.
~x~X~x~
Gabby sat on her windowsill with her knees drawn up to her chest, looking out over the courtyard as night fell. It was a clear night and the stars were out; to distract herself she tried to remember her astronomy lessons from when she was an apprentice, and attempted to identify as many constellations as she could. There was The Silver Knight, Andraste's Sword, The Herald, The Dark Moon, The Rebel King – named only seven years ago for Maric - and many others she recognised but couldn't recall the names of.
She then remembered the night she and Cullen had named the Fade constellations: silly names, most of them. The Prancing Dog, The Grinning Fool, The Cheeky Wink, The Smacked Arse, and, of course, The Burst Tomato.
She closed her eyes and sighed, letting bittersweet memories wash over her. She recalled her time as an apprentice, and the sweet and innocent friendship they'd struck up. She then remembered the first time she'd walked past Cullen and her stomach had knotted, making her finally admit to herself that she saw him as more than a friend. She remembered the way he'd spoken to her after she and Alistair had defeated Uldred, how she and Smyth had worked together to help restore his sanity, and the way he'd kissed her – the last time she'd seen him alive. She recalled how her world had crumbled around her at the news of his death, and of her joy at finding him in the fade, free of the memories and experiences that had sent him hurtling toward the voracious maw of insanity.
Then she remembered the way he'd looked at her only an hour ago. There had been no warmth, no affection in those amber eyes; only distrust, unease and revulsion. But how could he react in any other way? Fade-Cullen had never heard her sing; he had never waited in nervous anticipation for her appearance at the start of an achingly dull shift. He had never closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of mimosa and orange as she wafted past, and he had never gulped and hoped she couldn't hear his heart thumping against his chest when she stroked his cheek, and cooed in sympathy at his razor burns.
She had never made fade-Cullen blush by telling him he was the handsomest Templar in the Tower, and fade-Cullen had never asked her how she could tell, as most of the other Templars wore their helms at all times. She had never made him jump out of his boots, then giggle and glance around nervously, when she wolf-whistled at him. She had never made him balms for his aching feet. She had never picked a flower for him from the garden to 'bring the outside in' when he was unable to leave his post. She had never given him her necklace and told him her heart belonged to him. Fade-Cullen was still a Templar, whether he remembered it or not, and he opposed everything Gabby stood for, and everything she was. He had not had the experiences of mortal-Cullen, who had seen past everything the Chantry had taught him about mages, and had allowed himself to fall in love with her.
"Are you decent?" asked Anders from outside as he knocked on her door.
"Would it make any difference?" she asked in return.
"No. I'm coming in anyway," he said, opening the door. "Rats!" he exclaimed upon observing that she was indeed decent.
He walked over to where Gabby sat in the window and leaned against the wall. "Watcha doing, little elf?" he asked in a sing-song voice.
"Moping, if you must know, gangly human," she answered, not taking her eyes off the courtyard.
"Gangly?" he asked, feigning distaste at her reply. "I think you'll find streamlined to be more apposite."
"Apposite? That's a big word, for you," she replied without malice.
"It is, isn't it?" he conceded, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Between you and me, I heard Varel use it once, and I looked it up to see what it meant," he admitted.
She finally looked at him, unable to stop a smile from tugging at her lips.
"I thought you might want to come downstairs for supper," he invited. "You haven't eaten anything since this afternoon."
"How do you know that?" she asked.
"I'm annoyingly observant," he replied. "Now, come on. If Carlin is going to live up to his name and be a little champion, he needs to be fed. We wouldn't want him to grow up gangly or anything, would we? Maker forbid."
"No, that would never do," Gabby agreed with a faint chuckle. "I'll be down in a few minutes."
"Right – a few minutes it is, then. If you're any longer than that, I'll be up to pester you again," he promised, walking over to the door and opening it.
"Anders – you can pester me anytime," she said with a kind smile.
Anders winked at her as he closed the door.
Gabby removed the leather cord from around her neck and stroked the symbol of Andraste as it lay in her palm. "I have to think of my son, now," she said to it after a few moments, "and Anders. He worries about me so much."
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, forcing herself to give voice to her thoughts; if she said them aloud, she reasoned, they would be true. "I can see now we were never meant to be together. I love you, and I always will, but…" She hesitated as she felt tears prick at her eyes.
"No…no more tears," she resolved as she stood and walked over to her dresser. "I have to be happy for my son's sake. If I am melancholy now, he will be born melancholy." She took a small pill box from atop her dresser, removed the lid, wound the leather cord around the pendant and placed it inside, replacing the lid; she then placed the pill box at the back of the bottom drawer of the dresser, and covered it with clothing.
"There is a piece of my heart I will always keep for you," she said to herself, and slowly closed the drawer.
"Goodbye, Cullen."
~x~X~x~
Ser Talbot stood in the main foyer with five other Templars and a mage. "You will wait outside the room until you are called," he instructed. "You will give your evidence as previously discussed, and then you will leave. You will not discuss this with anyone else. Are there any questions?"
There were none. "Ser Ambrose!" Talbot called out as he spotted the Knight-Lieutenant passing through. "A moment, if you would?" Talbot then turned back toward the group. "Go upstairs and wait for me. I shall join you shortly."
As the group departed, Ser Ambrose approached Talbot. "Yes, Gideon?" he asked.
"You left that room in a hurry," said Talbot. "What did they say to you?"
Ambrose snorted and folded his arms. "They tried to convince me that you and Adrian had used strong-arm tactics in gathering evidence against Howe," he said. "They wanted me to swear, in Andraste's sight, that I believed Howe to be innocent and that all evidence against him was a fabrication."
"And you do not subscribe to that view?" Talbot asked with a raised brow.
"Hardly," Ambrose spat. "I knew he was guilty as soon as I set eyes on him; it was written all over his face."
Talbot nodded. "Very well. I will be with Howe should you need me for anything."
"I'm going outside to check on the apostates," said Ambrose, heading for the main exit. "They could be up to anything, for all we know."
"Good idea," said Talbot, "and remind them they will need to undergo the harrowing should they wish to reside here."
"I intend to," replied Ambrose.
~x~X~x~
Cold. Not the kind of cold that makes one shiver and one's teeth chatter, but the kind that cuts through flesh and sinew and violates one's very bones; the kind that makes every movement an agony, and each moment of stillness fraught with the thought of moving again.
He gingerly reached down for the filthy blanket, grimacing as his bones screamed in protest, and pulled it over his shoulders. I still have my wits; so long as I don't lose my mind, there is still hope for me…
A piercing scream snapped his eyes open; he tried to still his noisy breathing, attempting to discern how far away it had been. He had no idea how long he'd been here; each moment seemed to bleed languorously into the next. He had lost all sense of time; had it been hours? Days? Years?
Did it really matter?
Come on – think. I must keep my mind active. He hauled himself into a sitting position, wincing at the searing pain he felt in his joints. He blinked several times, attempting to focus on the brown blur that surrounded him. Stone walls – yes, I remember, now. He looked up; a hole – it could hardly be called a window – high up in the wall let in a little light. Is it daytime? Or is that false light?
Wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, he unsteadily rose to his feet, slapping his hand against the wall for support as a wave of nausea and dizziness crashed into his head like a breaker against a cliff.
He clutched at his belly and took short, gasping breaths. No, I'm not going to be sick! I'm not! A rumbling, deep in his belly, shot up his gullet and he retched, over and over again, the cacophony reverberating off the stone then falling dead against the stale, noisome air; his panting and groaning the only sounds that remained. He spat out the bitter-tasting contents of his mouth and cleared his nose onto the floor. Surely it couldn't be worse than what already coated parts of the floor; from the smell, he guessed at a combination of urine and semen.
He could smell his own body odour, too; how long had it been since he'd bathed? He stroked his jaw; his beard didn't seem to have grown much. A few days, perhaps?
He looked around this room – no, this cell. It was barely large enough to contain his cot; he would just about be able to lie across the floor in one direction, but not in the other. A slop pail sat in the corner; as he approached it, it became apparent that it had not been emptied recently. Something written on the wall above it caught his eye; a message, perhaps? He squinted but could not make it out; what language was that? Arcanum? He wondered for a moment how it had been written – with what material – and then, with a glance at the bucket, decided it was probably best he didn't know.
Where are my clothes? he wondered, looking down the length of his body; his grubby smallclothes were all that protected his modesty.
Where am I? How did I get here? Why can't I remember anything?
He held his breath at a noise just outside the door. The door. There's a door. A wooden door. Yes, I remember, now.
A chink of light entered the small cell as a hatch was opened in the door. A face of sorts, which appeared not to be attached to a body, peered through; an indistinct mask that hovered at the same height as his own head.
"Here you go," said the mask, pushing a chunk of bread, a sliver of cheese, and a pewter mug through the opening.
"Please, wait!" the man cried, running over to the door. The mask was more distinct, now, as the light fell upon it, and did appear to be attached to a body, which wore heavy plate armour.
"What is it?" the mask asked impatiently, glancing around.
"Please…when do we get our lyrium?" the man asked desperately. "I-I need some…please…"
"I'm sorry, Knight-Commander," the mask replied. "You don't get any. Not here."
"Will you stop calling him Knight-Commander?" another voice hissed from farther away. "You'll get us hung, you will!"
"Please!" the man begged, clawing at the door. "You don't understand! I must have my lyrium!"
"I'm sorry," the mask said abruptly, unable to look at him.
"No! Don't close it! Talk to me! Please!" the man yelled as the hatch was slammed shut.