Fool's Errand

by R2s Muse

Disclaimer: The Dragon Age setting and its characters belong to Bioware. I'm just borrowing!

Chapter Summary: Hawke and Cullen meet with the mage underground at last, although not quite in the manner they expected.

Chapter 21: Underground

West Hill
Ferelden

Cullen woke up slowly, eyes blinking groggily in the darkness as he tried to recall where he was, and why his arms were twisted so uncomfortably underneath his body. He tried to straighten them, but they wouldn't move. Groggily, he started to worry, but then realized his hands were asleep. As he started to work some sensation back into them, he could recognize that they were also tied behind his back.

He looked around, sure that his eyes were open now, but the room was pitch black. He couldn't see even a glint of light. The darkness was like a black cloth pressing in on his face, and he suddenly had a hard time catching his breath. His heart started to race in panic while the lightless emptiness closed in around him.

He gulped air and shut his eyes, willing himself to focus, like the Revered Mother had taught him. He took several deep breaths and then grabbed hold of one small memory and concentrated on it. Hawke smiling at him, her dimple accentuating the curve of her cheek while the light caught in her green eyes.

Hawke!

He kept his eyes shut and instead used his other senses. He was laying on cold, smooth surface, like the stone floor one might find in a larder or dungeon. He listened, and heard soft breathing to his right.

"Hawke?" he called hopefully.

There was no answer, but the rate of breathing changed, like the person was waking up.

"Hawke? Hello?"

He heard a soft groan, and sagged in relief. "Hawke. Are you okay?"

"Cullen?" she asked, sounding half asleep. "Wha—"

"We've been captured. Are you okay? Are you in pain?"

"Pain? Uh, um, n-no," came the unsteady response. He could hear her shifting around, taking stock. "No, I actually feel fine."

"But your leg . . ."

"I know. But, I think . . . I think someone must have healed me."

"Hmm. Hopefully that's a good sign. At least they don't want us dead right away."

"Cullen, where are we?" He could hear her shifting around again, and he imagined her craning her neck around to try to see.

"I don't know."

"Is Varric here?"

"I don't hear anyone else."

"Varric? Varric!" Hawke called, but there was no response.

"Hopefully he got away," Cullen said, trying to sound as confident as he could in the face of the terrible alternative.

"Hopefully."

"What's the last thing you remember?" Cullen asked.

"Um. There was a mage. Son of a bitch! Our server was with the mage underground! She must have overheard Varric and I talking about trying to find them." Hawke trailed off into even more colorful curses.

"That might explain how she knew who you were, but not what she wants with us."

"Who knows. I doubt she could know if we were friend or foe from our brief conversation. Maybe . . . maybe this is just a precaution?"

"Locking us up again for our protection?" Cullen snorted.

"We do seem to elicit that response in people these days."

"Hmm, the templar excuse I can buy. But this is a new level of paranoid to throw potential allies into a dungeon without even speaking to them first."

Hawke chuckled at this. "Anders would get along well with these people."

"If they're a people and not just one person."

"I don't follow."

"I only mean that we don't know who is holding us. Given the mage's remarks, we could be in the dungeon of the mage underground. Or we could be in that woman's cellar for her own nefarious purposes."

Hawke laughed again. "Ah, Cullen, you do have a knack for seeing the worst side of things, don't you?"

"Well, I, well—"

"It's all right, love. It's also a sign of creativity. I can say in all honesty that that possibility would have never occurred to me." She went silent and he could not even hear her breathing. Then she let out an explosive gasp laughter, like she could not hold it in any longer, and laughed loud and hard.

He listened to her gasp for breath as her amusement filled the empty spaces of their prison, and felt his mouth curl into an answering smile. Finally, he joined in, and soon his cramped muscles started to relax and the panicked knot in the pit of his stomach unwound. Maybe this was why Hawke was always so irreverent in tense situations, using humor as a way to combat the anxiety. It was a strategy he had never tried.

"Well, whoever is holding us, the most important thing is for us to get out of here," Hawke said, laughter still coloring her voice.

"True. Can you move closer?" Cullen asked. "I want to see if I can figure out what is binding us."

"I don't . . . maybe." She grunted and shifted, and he also moved in the direction of the noise. He felt a brush again his shoulders and then a knee thudded into his chest.

"Oof," he exclaimed in a rush of air.

"Sorry! That was you?"

"That was my solar plexus, but I'll recover." He scooted closer until he was sure that he was facing her. "Grace," he whispered toward where he hoped her face would be.

"I'm here," she whispered back, close now.

Slowly, he leaned toward her, listening carefully for the sound of her breathing, until his mouth brushed against what seemed to be her cheekbone. He trailed his lips lightly over her skin, the intensity of the sensation heightened by his lack of other senses, and worked his way over until he closed on her mouth. She kissed him back feverishly, pressed hard against him through their one connection.

"Thank the Maker you're all right," he murmured against her lips as he broke the kiss. He touched his forehead to hers, staying close so as not to lose her again in the dark. Her breath fanned warmly against his skin. "We will get out here," he said, just needing to hear it out loud.

"I know."

"Let's see if we can figure out what's binding our hands," he said. "It feels rough like rope. Can you turn over?"

"Yes." But as she started to move they heard a sound, like the distant clang of a door and then tramping feet. "Someone's coming," she said.

Cullen struggled to leverage himself upright, but had not quite succeeded when a faint glow appeared around the edges of what must be the door to their cell. His eyes met Hawke's in the growing illumination. He could now see that she was undamaged if a bit grimier than before, like she had been dragged through the dirt to come here. He could also see that Varric definitely was not with them, nor was there any sign of him in their small cell.

The door clanked and clicked open with a squeal of ancient metal hinges. Torch light streamed in through the open door, illuminating the perfectly square cell where they lay, surrounded by walls of rusted vertical bars. Four grim-looking people entered, one of them the red-haired mage from the tavern looking unsympathetic. Another had a mage's staff slung across his back, while the two remaining men had swords sheathed at their hips.

The men with swords strode toward Cullen and Hawke with purpose, and roughly yanked them to their feet.

"What is the meaning of this? Who are you people?" Cullen demanded, but they ignored his questions.

The red-haired mage watched them warily, but without malice, from her position near the entrance. She motioned to the others with a jerk of her hand toward the door and the stairs Cullen could now see beyond it. The men with swords grabbed Cullen and Hawke by the arms and pulled them along.

Cullen planted his feet and made it more difficult for the man holding his arm, but a quick glance at Hawke made him stop resisting as she shook her head slightly. So he followed sullenly, awaiting his chance.

As they moved away from their cell, it became clear that they had been brought to some kind of fortress. The style of the old stone of the walls was reminiscent of the oldest parts of Kinloch Hold. In contrast to Kinloch, however, this keep was also poorly maintained. They passed collapsed side passages and dodged piles of debris. The disarray, together with the age, led Cullen to the conclusion that Varric's contacts must have been more correct than they realized, and the mage underground was indeed hiding out in the West Hill fortress itself.

Soon they entered parts of the keep that showed more recent signs of occupation. A room with occupied beds and cots. A kitchen with scurrying pages and a scullery maid that stared open-mouthed at their passage. They received more than one nosy stare as they passed by, but their captors remained silent, only prodding them ever forward.

Eventually, they passed through an ornate doorway with Fereldan motifs carved into its lintel. The doorway opened at the end of a long hall with two rows of circular, stone pillars that ran its length and divided the space in uneven thirds. Gathered at one end of the hall, in the open area between the rows of pillars, a small group of people wearing mage robes were talking animatedly in voices that echoed off the smooth stone and made them sound more numerous than they were.

The ginger mage led Hawke and Cullen right up to the group, who continued talking without interruption. A dark-haired elven woman wearing traditional circle robes and holding a staff with a silver cap seemed to be debating another man on the College of Magi through which, historically, the mages had governed themselves even whilst they were confined in Circle Towers across Thedas.

"Even if we win," the man was saying, "the Chantry will never allow mages real freedom. We need to devise a plan of shared governance. Like the College provided!"

The elf snorted derisively. "Your Loyalist prejudices are showing. For a thousand years, we 'shared' our governance with the Chantry. And every time, given the choice, they chose our oppression. That is not shared governance, but slavery."

"Slavery is a harsh word—"

"And the only apt description. But perhaps your privileged shem upbringing makes you unable to recognize it when you see it."

"I will—"

"Enough, Soren," the woman said, cutting him off again. "Your uneducated arguments will leave a poor impression on our guests." Her Orlesian accent made the set down sound even ruder than it would have otherwise. She turned to their group, her expression staying much the same, derisive and bored. Her eyes ran over both Cullen and Hawke, and she focused in on Hawke. "Marian Hawke, thank you for accepting our invitation," she said, smiling like a cat who had caught the canary.

"Funny. I don't recall receiving one," Hawke replied evenly.

The elven woman shrugged. "Sometimes I forget the formalities these days, dogged and hunted as we are. I am sure that is something you, of all people, can understand, yes?"

Hawke just glared at her, so the woman continued. "You and your friend were asking a great many questions about us around the town, so I thought you would be pleased to finally meet us. Especially since we normally treat intruders much more harshly."

Hawke laughed at this. "Then I would hate to see how you treat friends."

The woman's flippancy disappeared, and her eyes flashed dangerously. "The mage underground has no friends. Only enemies and those who can be of use to our cause. You will need to decide which you are."

"I don't fight for the mage cause any longer," Hawke said, baring her teeth in an approximation of a smile. "It tends to start wars."

The elf's face darkened in anger, and a flicker of arcane power started to arc along her staff in response. Out of instinct, Cullen pulled on his own power from deep within his veins, which this time finally answered. It surged through him, unexpectedly strong and chaotic, boiling through him in search of magic to annul.

The elf immediately felt it and turned hateful eyes upon him. "Templar!" she hissed. Before he could direct or even control any of his power, she turned hers upon him, channeling the lightning from her staff into a bolt that knocked him off his feet.

His teeth chattered and his muscles trembled as the shock ran through him and overrode control of his limbs for a second. He heard Hawke shout something, but the spasms had also jammed his eyes shut so he could only wait for them to subside. When the effects had finally passed, he staggered up to one knee, but got no further as the sound he had prayed to Blessed Andraste never to hear again suddenly buzzed to life. The crackle of pure energy taking form in the air, with the hint of ozone as it arced around him. It was accompanied by a loud slam as a glowing wall of pink magic erupted in a circle, confining him at its center.

ooXXoo

Hawke struggled against the three men who held her, trying to reach Cullen, but it was no use. A pulsing cage of magic sprang to life around him and Cullen immediately froze, still down on one knee. His face grew stricken, the hollows under his eyes more pronounced, and his breathing quickened. A trickle of sweat dripped down his temple. Then another. His mouth opened, trying at words, but no sound came out. His eyes remained fixed in one spot, wide open and fully dilated.

Hawke watched helplessly as Cullen was forced to relive his worst nightmare. He made a soft keening sound, like that of a wounded animal, and she almost wept to hear it.

"No, not a cage. Please. Not this way," Hawke pleaded softly, the fight in her simply gone. She looked at the elf in defeat. "Please."

The woman's eyes darted back and forth from Hawke to Cullen, clearly puzzled at Cullen's extreme reaction to being caged. Searching for her own response, the elf settled on indignation.

"Why would you bring a templar here? Did you really think this would bolster your credibility with us?" she snorted. "We know you come from the King. We know you want to try broker a peace with the templars. So you bring one into our midst?"

"No! It's not what you think!" Hawke said quickly.

"Is your message from your king a ruse, and you try to finish us instead by bringing a templar spy?"

"Cullen isn't a templar any longer."

"Ha!" the elf scoffed. "Then why was he trying to attack my magic? You don't live in a Circle Tower and not have a sense for when a templar is about to hurt you." Her lip curled up in an angry snarl. "That was your last mistake." She lifted her hands and magic sparked from her fingertips.

"Fiona, stop!" A voice rang out through the hall, followed by someone striding quickly toward them.

Hawke's jaw dropped in shock. The elf did not seem old enough to be the famous Fiona, former Grey Warden, former Grand Enchanter of the College in Cumberland. Hawke reassessed her, noting now the woman's greying temples and the need to tread more carefully. But more shocking was the new speaker, who stood glaring at Fiona while also shooting slightly guilty glances at Hawke.

Anders was a little thinner than the last time she had seen him, if that were possible. He had switched back to his accustomed style from his days in Kirkwall, with a long black coat that snapped in front and grey feathers adorning the shoulders. It was almost like he was trying to get recognized, like she was doing with her champion-inspired armor, but for different reasons. Or perhaps the same reasons.

What is he doing here?

She thought back to the story she had been told for him leaving, related through Cullen. Something about not wanting to participate in her mad quest to save the world. Yet here he was, in the heart of the mage rebellion.

Was he finally following up on his conspiracies and hopes from before he blew up the Kirkwall Chantry and changed the world? But why wouldn't he have told her?

Too many questions without answer shuffled through her mind. She did not bother to hide the shock on her face, it was too intense, but she could only focus on the practicalities of here and now.

"Anders, please. Please, they have to release Cullen. This is too much."

Cullen remained on his knees, but now had clasped his hands in front of him, rocking forward and back, and muttered a continuous string of words under his breath, something that sounded very familiar. "Though all before me is shadow . . ." she could make out.

"Please," she begged again to no one in particular, her heart breaking all over again.

Anders gave Hawke an inscrutable look, like he could not understand her question. He turned back to Fiona. "Hawke is only trying to help. You should hear her out."

"Should I?" Fiona laughed, but it was a bitter sound.

"You know why she is here. I warned you she would come. You wouldn't have brought her here if you didn't want to hear what she has to say." Anders's chin jutted out belligerently as he spoke. "So, yes, you should hear her out."

Fiona glared at Anders, suggesting he was getting through to her, so Hawke tried again. "Fiona, please, Cullen isn't a templar spy. He isn't one of them any longer. He's with me. Please release him."

After a pause, Fiona said grudgingly, "And if I do, one false move, and you will all die. Including you, Terrorist of Kirkwall." Fiona jabbed an accusatory finger at Anders. "Do not think your stunts will protect you here, as you have done us no favors."

"I struck a blow for mage freedom."

She laughed hollowly. "You were the gnat that enraged the sleeping giant. We were seeking a better way, a more direct way, when you suddenly made everything worse. In the space of an instant, you made all their accusations about mages . . . true." Her staff flared again in response.

Anders held his hands up in placation. "Fine. But you know I helped give you the war you wanted. There is no way you would have been invited to a negotiating table with the templars, invited as an equal party, if I hadn't done what I did."

"If you're looking for thanks, you'll get none."

He shook his head in disdain. "I don't need any."

"And what about Cullen?" Hawke reminded them urgently. "He also stood against templar injustice in Kirkwall. And, the Order punished him for it. He doesn't deserve this. Please let him go."

Fiona sighed and with a wave of her hand, dismissed the cage around Cullen.

Cullen remained where he was, shoulders hunched, face empty, while Hawke rushed to his side. She knelt before him, but he only looked through her, his eyes unfocused. "Cullen?" she said softly, but there was no response, so she cupped his face, trying to get him to see her. "Cullen, it's me. It's Grace."

Finally, he turned slight toward her, but there was no recognition at first. She caressed his face lightly. "Cullen, please come back to me."

He blinked and then shuddered with a sudden, ragged gasp. His eyes focused again and he touched a trembling hand to her cheek, almost like he was testing if she was real. "Grace," he said, his voice cracking.

"I'm here," she whispered. "It's okay. You're safe."

He let out an explosive breath, and then took several more. "I know," Cullen said in a stronger voice, his face becoming less ashen.

Behind them, Fiona made an impatient sound. Hawke looked up to see Fiona practically tapping her foot and Anders watching her with Cullen, his expression still unreadable.

Hawke slipped her hand into Cullen's, pulling him unsteadily to his feet, and then turned to Fiona. "You've gone to some trouble to bring us here. Finally ready to talk?" Hawke asked in voice that made clear she was done playing games.

"I must admit to some curiosity," Fiona said grudgingly. "Come with me." She turned on her heel without another glance. The swordsmen from the dungeon moved up behind Hawke and Cullen, hands on the hilts of their swords, so they followed, hand in hand, with Anders trailing behind.

Fiona led them out of the hall and down a short corridor to a smaller room where several people gathered around a large table, with their backs to the door. Two of them turned as Fiona entered the room, a dark-haired mage with streaks of silver in his hair and beard, and a stately woman with brown hair braided in a long plait who stood with the ease and bearing of a warrior. Behind them, Hawke and Cullen's belongings were laid out upon the table, including Hawke's satchel and the opened invitation from Alistair.

The bearded mage stepped forward and smiled warmly. "You must be Hawke," he said, holding out his hand in greeting. "I'm Rhys, this is Evangeline." He nodded to the woman at his side.

Hawke shook his hand warily at this unexpectedly cordial greeting. "Hello."

"I apologize for the rough welcome. We have wanted to talk with you since Anders first told us of your plans. I'm sure you understand the need for caution. Especially since it seems you were followed to West Hill."

"You mean the men in black?" Hawke still wasn't sure how they could have followed her here after all these weeks, especially since they had traveled by sea.

"What?" Anders asked in alarm.

Hawke nodded at him. "Yes, our old friends attacked us in the tavern where your new friends then attacked us as well. I still don't know if Varric is all right."

"If you mean the dwarf, he is alive. He escaped us," said the red-haired barmaid from where she stood near the door.

Hawke felt one small knot of worry inside her relax. "Lucky for you," Hawke replied, with a show of teeth.

The red head grimaced, but remained silent.

"The men in black have been chasing me for weeks, but I thought I had finally given them the slip," Anders said, tapping his lower lip. "I wonder how they finally found us again."

"Yes, we wonder as well," Fiona said in a dangerous tone.

Rhys glanced at Fiona, before he continued, "As you can see, our caution is warranted, however those men came to find you here. Nevertheless, we would like to hear more about this invitation of yours."

Rhys's placating tone was starting to work on Hawke, but she wasn't quite ready to play nice after what they had done to Cullen. She squeezed his hand, but he was still pale and his eyes remained shadowed.

"Well, you've read it," Hawke said, nodding at the letter.

"Yes," Fiona replied.

"And?"

"And what?" Fiona said with a toss of her head. "Do you expect us to be grateful that these heads of state finally deign to get involved? That life for their citizens has now been sufficiently disrupted that they are ready to do something?"

Hawke clenched her fists and had to resist the sudden urge to throttle Fiona. "No one can plan out the path of change, but this is a start. Isn't this what you wanted? For the leaders of the world to listen to the mage plight? No one wants this war. Not even you."

Fiona sniffed in disdain, perhaps realizing she had revealed too many of her cards during her exchange with Anders.

"So," Rhys interceded, shooting Fiona an admonishing look. "King Alistair will host this parlay in Denerim. At Fort Drakon. Can he guarantee our safety?"

"Yes," Hawke replied. "He pledges to offer neutral ground, with all the resources of the crown to ensure the security of the meeting."

"And he is trustworthy? This . . . Alistair?" Fiona asked, darting a look at Hawke out of the corner of her eye, like there was more riding on the question somehow.

"I believe so. From his reputation and everything I have seen of him firsthand, I think he can be trusted in this," Hawke said, looking at Cullen and Anders for confirmation, who both nodded.

"I don't see that the king has anything to gain by double crossing you anyway," Anders added. "To be fair, he has always been rather sympathetic to the cause. He tried to give a number of concessions to the Fereldan mages when he first took the throne. After the circle mages helped Solona and him defeat the Archdemon. Plus, Solona's a mage and we all know how he felt about her."

Hawke could not help but glance at Cullen, but if this mention of Solona bothered him, he gave no outward sign.

"Have you met him?" Fiona asked Anders, continuing her curious line of questioning.

"Once. Seems a good man. He stopped the templars from killing me the last time I escaped the Circle. So I may be a bit biased," Anders said with a grin.

"And, the templars have agreed to these talks?" Rhys asked.

"They have," Hawke responded. "They also had misgivings, but seem to want to find a way forward. The Lord Seeker himself has agreed to attend."

"This is a great risk," Rhys said, frowning. "Sticking to the shadows has been the only thing protecting us since what happened at Andoral's Reach. Do you really think this is the time for us to come forward?"

"I do. It doesn't mean capitulation. It means negotiation. Until you begin to talk, nothing can change," Hawke said.

"And nothing can be healed," Cullen added softly.

Rhys shared a long look with Evangeline, who had been silent this whole time. "I don't like it," Evangeline said at last. "But, there are some precautions we can take. We should discuss it with the others before deciding."

"Agreed," said Rhys, glancing at Fiona who nodded as well. "Hawke, I return your belongings. Please do us the favor of waiting here. Charis will see to your comforts." He looked meaningfully at the red-haired mage, who sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes.

Rhys, Evangeline and Fiona started to file out of the room, and Anders followed until Rhys held up a hand. "Perhaps you should remain with your friends," Rhys said, his tone indicating that it was not a suggestion.

Anders nostrils flared at the dismissal, but he stayed behind, avoiding looking anyone in the eye. Charis fumbled her way through offering them various refreshments. Hawke politely declined, which seemed to relieve Charis and her obvious annoyance that she was again being treated like a tavern server even with her own people.

Everyone stood in awkward silence after that, as Hawke was unable to talk freely while Charis and her guardsmen remained. Charis looked equally uncomfortable, and after a few minutes mumbled some excuses and withdrew, taking the guards with her.

Hawke focused on the door as it shut, straining her ears to hear if they were locked in again. She did not hear a key turn, but she rushed over and tried the latch anyway, which moved freely. She released the breath she had been holding before turning on Anders.

"Where have you been?" she hissed as quietly as her indignation would allow.

"Away from you!" he hissed back and then glared at Cullen. "No thanks to you!"

"How were we supposed to know you would be with the mages we were searching out!" Cullen retorted, setting his jaw belligerently. "You should have known this is where she would be! Why are you here?"

"I was hoping to have convinced them without your help!" Anders shot back.

Hawke eyed them both suspiciously. "Wait, I thought you left because you thought this was all one big bad idea?"

Anders jammed his mouth closed and side-eyed Cullen again. "I was trying to lead the danger away from you. This time."

"But . . ." She didn't know what to say, turning to Cullen. "But you said . . ."

Cullen sighed and shrugged one shoulder. "It was what he wanted. He wanted to make sure you didn't try to follow him this time," he said grimly.

Dread quivered down Hawke's spine at each mention of this time, which was their attempt to avoid mentioning last time when her foolishness in chasing after Anders had left her open to capture by the man with the silver eyes. The feeling of dread spread through her until her heart clenched in genuine fear, which meant they had a point. Even if it was an annoying point.

"I can take care of myself," she heard herself say automatically, although the soft words rang false.

Cullen chuckled fondly, touching her face and brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. "Of course you can. But you can't stop us from trying to do what we can to protect you."

"Oh can't I?" she growled, narrowing her eyes at him playfully. He only smiled and dropped his hand. Behind Cullen, Anders's mobile face became very still and his eyes bounced between the two of them speculatively.

She turned to Anders. "So when we leave here, will you come with us?" she asked in as neutral a tone as she could muster. She wanted him to come. She missed him, whatever his misguided notions of chivalry.

"I might as well," Anders said, glaring again at Cullen. "Staying away hasn't helped much."

His answer was a relief, even if his constant anger toward Cullen was not. She sighed internally. Some things will never change. "Good," she said aloud. "Now we wait."

A/N: Next up: Chapter 22: Together Again, where our heroes come to an agreement with the mages and return to Denerim, while Cullen's situation becomes more complicated. :) Thanks for reading!