Author's note: I took less than a month (!) No one's more amazed than I. Again, thank you for the support, guys. I hope you continue to enjoy this drivel. It could definitely use more correction but my brain can't handle it anymore.
Random cookies for whomever gets who the surprise character is. Champ, you don't count. Find the Madagascar reference instead. And also, thanks to her for the beta-like reading before this chapter saw the light of day. Reference to Ventisquear's sweet Air Surana simply because I wanted to. And he's my default Surana nowadays.
In this chapter: We all puzzle about how any mage can say yes to a demon. Oh and fighting.
021.
Mages are disappearing from the Circle. It always happened – Anders – some of them caught easily enough – Anders – or after a few months enjoying the dubious attractions of the outside world – Anders – usually by doing something stupid like not running directly into Tevinter – Anders. Hawke worries too much over the subject – she doesn't need to wonder who's planting the idea of conspiracy into that practical mind of his so it's a pretty good thing she exists, Diana concludes. Otherwise there would be a revolution just begging to happen.
"I still don't understand why I'm here."
Here is walking by the Knight-Captain. Practically bull rushed, really. He entered her cell, stammered some thing or another for a couple dozen minutes – while she went about her business as usual, there's something to be said about not being stupid enough to wait for his backbone to make an appearance – and ended up dragging her out.
It's testimony to his hard-earned reputation how he can walk out of the Gallows with a Senior-Enchanter in tow, staff and all. Meredith must really trust him. Amazing though. The crazy woman doesn't look sane enough to trust the reflection on her mirror (she wouldn't either if said reflection had a horn). That changes when Cullen comes into the equation.
He might be sleeping with her.
Diana's features scrunch up comically, ears deafened by her every brain cell of hers chiming in a lovely chorus of 'eeew's. The very idea of the older woman touching anything with a heartbeat makes her breakfast do a summersault into the wrong side of her digestive track.
"Amell."
Ah, right. Walk. Don't stop in the middle of Lowtown where her pretty staff slash robe slash body might fetch a pretty price. Her brain stops trying to mentally brush itself and request her legs to move. A request for bleach lingers. And sand. Likely some extra nail files and claws to really drag that idea out.
"I understand mages and their families aren't exactly," he hesitates and Diana realizes he has been speaking since the Gallows. Nod and smile, girls, nod and smile. "Forthcoming when speaking to a Templar."
Not forthcoming? Try violently and brutally against it, man.
"They won't be any more forthcoming to a Circle mage," the woman comments. They are crossing the dark area of the city without worry, his large steps actually matching her slower ones. The air is crisp and clear in the early morning (or, considering it's a city, clear enough to make you only cough while you get used to the stench particles). It's certainly pleasant to be out and about.
"They would speak to Hawke's cousin."
Right, that's a recent development. Normal people would get a reputation somewhere between blowing up Qunari and getting threatened by a wall. She gets one because Hawke stands (all bloody, shiny spiky staff carrying and stuff) and gently informs every little Kirkwallian ant of how pleased he is for having his own family's support in these dark times insert extra bullshit here. Translation: the mage out of the Circle you see here is not to be offed yet. Everyone knows what Hawke wants, Hawke gets. When he doesn't, bodies get dropped.
Basically, she's in the clear because she's known as a homicidal mage's cousin.
"They might close the door on my face."
"They'd be afraid Hawke came by and brought it and the house down."
Point. When did he turn smart? Diana's eyebrow raises a wee bit in question but her lips remain closed. Better not make him think he can beat her in anything.
They cross the square next to Gamlen's little hovel unhurriedly, a peaceful sort of silence contaminating the space around them. Stones crumble beneath their steps, the dangerous streets lacking even the petty thieves that usually lurk behind every dark corner; not even the usual pretend guards are around (pretend because they might guard but usually try not to do anything which involves effort like, you know, chasing anyone committing a crime).
Diana's deadly sure bad things are going to happen very soon.
That's called Karma, bitch.
The first signal of mess – well, second; first was the silence – is a dwarf. The mage has a glimpse of red haired pigtails as the woman flies by into what ten seconds before had been a wall. Both she and her companion stare uncomprehendingly at the event – just as the family who suddenly has an extra member for dinner at their table. Or is that on their table? In their table? – not even remembering to do actually do anything. A small groan is heard from the mix of broken wood and shattered cutlery.
Diana doesn't need to her eyes to know what comes next; her whole body reacts by pure instinct.
Demons oppress the air whenever they come by. Corruption wafts in the very air whenever the cross to the real world. They belong to the Fade. To have them on the waking world is like having a puzzle piece out of place, a black stone on a white pearl necklace, a number when reciting the ABCs. It's wrong. It doesn't fit. The mage which walks into the small square stinks with corruption.
It's the same smell of the Tower.
Her breathing speeds up, her body contracts and her nightmares come to life, they rip apart her mind and leave no other thought than run, run away, run far. Suddenly, it's Uldred in front of her, not an unknown mage. It is Jeremy and Margery and Ella and Maker knows who else tried to kill her that day. One would think Kirkwall would have sanitized her against this, made her forget, but it hasn't and it will not; not her and not him.
Cullen pushes her behind his body and completes the scenario as her vision is impaired by a tall expanse of armored back.
Maker damnit, this isn't happening again. She is no longer that Diana who ignored every trace of danger and hid away. She is a different person. She is a stronger person. Steeling herself, the mage jumps from behind the Templar – though, top notch back still; he has been keeping up with his training – and raises her staff high.
"If you think you dragged me out again to get almost killed again, you got another thing coming, Commander!"
There's a pause, a little one, very small as he stares at her face. He has grown too. He's not that stupid – green – recruit she met. He is the Knight-Captain. He is her Commander – probably because her list of worthwhile Templars is currently at the amazing count of two. He is stronger than she gives him credit for.
Still a little on the slow side, though.
Cullen hesitates – he always does when before doing something he'll regret – and shakes his head. It's useless, Templar. "After you, Enchanter." His sword leaves the scabbard so smoothly that barely a sound is heard over their breaths, the demon's groans or the dwarf who's fighting pieces of brick.
Diana takes it as permission to explode.
Grinning from ear to ear, a particular spell comes to her lips unbidden and half the square goes up in flames, accompanied by the ever amazing 'die you thing' battle cry. Cullen is already half way through the space when her spell falls, his mind falling into syntony with hers. They're good at this, she reasons, crashing her staff around, spell after spell flooding the air as the Templar digs into man's flesh. They're good but demons don't go down immediately – they never do – and it fights back, power behind entropic spells that she never managed in her short life.
Dwarf to the rescue!
"Who are you to mess me up!"
The previously flying creature pokes her head out of the ruble. Pigtails come out first, then a tattooed covered face, drawings which cover every inch of the darker skin. Her eyes are wider than normal, half way into what a snake's eyes would look like, hazel orbs staring from beneath. Right and it is a female, covered in light, very light armor (terribly Dalish in design) and carrying a large axe.
Extremely large. How can she carry something that large and not kneel over after two steps? It's like a freaking boulder.
"Why is it staring?"
One plus one isn't adding up to two where this woman is concerned?
Diana turns her face back to the fight, no longer very concerned. Fire covers her skin; it sings in her bloodstream, every gesture, every spell casts away that corruption which is her weakest point. And on the other side where she can see him, the Knight-Captain fights the most physical manifestation of the demon; competent and careful. With the dwarf in the struggle, it's not a matter of whether they are going to win or not. It's a matter of when.
Especially since the axe-wielding nutbag passes by her and undertakes the fighting tactic better described as 'hacking away'.
With her entrance, the Enchanter stops attacking, step by step until she's right against a nearby wall. The next battle is hers alone. They aren't mages so they can't feel how the demon starts reaching out, mental claws ripping and gripping for another body to inhabit. Diana feels it slowly digging into her mind. She is the only mage nearby; its last attempt would be with her.
She braces herself, body straight and staring ahead. Proud. Diana can do pride well. Grandfather left her that in spades, a whole amount of pride and the magic he was so disgusted by in her veins.
"You want nothing? Nothing at all?"
Demons. They all sound like bad salesman.
"Not really, nope. Nah. Nuh huh."
"You live in a prison, you walk in chains, you think what you are told, live as you are ordered to, cannot go beyond their words and want nothing? Silly child, there is a whole world outside. So much to see. Do you not want to?"
Implication of being ridden like a mule throughout Thedas in case of positive answer is written in fine print.
Cullen looks at her from the other side of the square. His sword rests once more in its scabbard, danger over and done with. To him, it is. He can't hear the insidious words, slipping, drifting, finding their place between doubts Diana never touches. The mage smiles up at him, a little grin because everything is fine. Perfect.
"How about him, mage? Would you not want him? A regular life, a happy one where he doesn't fear you all the time?"
Magic is part of her body. He would like if she wasn't one, she knows. They could have a normal life if she wasn't one.
"What would you give for that life, little one?"
What would she be without magic? A pretty little bauble like her mother? How about Hawke, she wouldn't have Hawke. Or Jowan. Or Leona. She wouldn't put up with Carver. She wouldn't have Cullen. And more than anything, she wouldn't have made the mistakes she did, learned every little lesson and turned into the woman she is today.
Demons are terrible Makerdamned salesthings. How can they convince anyone?
Diana tells it politely to go screw itself and every other door in the Black City when Cullen reaches her. His expression is determined, the same he has when telling her she's not supposed to raid the kitchen's cabinets at, before and after three in the morning. His hand digs in her arm more strongly than the demon ever could, each finger gripping into her skin. Under his touch, her magic disappears, her legs sag under her, mana and strength fading into nothing.
The demon cannot hold where there is nothing to cling to, especially when the mage it's trying to take a hold of is doing the mental equivalent of jumping up and down on its hands. While laughing. While laughing hysterically.
That little bitch tried offering her the Knight-Captain. The Knight-Captain. Cullen. As if she would let go of everything for this boy. How stupid was that? It is like offering her own sword or her robes. You can't be tempted by something that's pretty much on the palm of your hand and that poor bastard was practically lives on hers. Even he knows it.
Diana shakes her head at the inanity of demons. How can anyone fall for that and turn into blob man? Seriously, let her know because she can't get it.
Not to mention the nipples. And purple. That color only works on Surana.
"Amell?" Yes. Please step back and stop holding me upright, please. Personal Space. "W-What's wrong? What happened? Did it say anything to you? Are you all right?"
Demon encounters always break her a bit, no matter how well they always go – it's all about the no. Think of it as a chastity belt for the well-protected mind – and this time is no exception. Her tongue is tied for a while. To that feeling, she joins the surprise born from his help. It shouldn't surprise her, not after all this time but still. It's not every day a Templar.
Wait, no, she can't think like this.
Cullen is not just a Templar. He's the Commander, her little boy all grown up and ready to neuter other little Templars and off some mages. He puts up with her – grudgingly – almost likes her, which is awesome considering it gave him the chance to use words around her. Did she ever mention how proud she is to be able to document this wide extent of human evolution?
"Will the mage stop making googly eyes at the air and get itself off the floor? Everyone else has more things to do than wait for it. And the Templar will continue to stare to the female in the same manner for much longer or should I leave both to continue their activity in peace?"
From all her four foot nothing of height, the dwarf is freaking bloody scary. Much more than the demon could ever be. Might be something to do with that axe which is honestly bigger than her whole body. The Templar steps back, Diana scrambles off to the floor.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Yes, sir."
"Commander, she's obviously female."
"Does that really matter right about now?"
"Big humongous axe. You might want to keep your legs the height they are."
The dwarf sends them both a look that states they are beneath her; so beneath her, in fact, that they might as well be standing at the bottom of the ocean while she makes her way to Haven. Can someone manage to be side by side with this creat... – ergh – woman? Keeping her on the right track – kill only the dark demonic thing, you crazy bitch, only those – sounds an Andastrian task.
"I'm taking this with me. It is my prize to collect."
Diana punches the Templar's arm, a subtle indication for him to keep quiet and don't argue. Cullen seems to get it, for once. Take the stupid mage carcass, woman, go ahead. Keep the creepy chopped body which is now dribbling onto the gut— is she going to collect all the pieces or… oh Maker, stomach.
A strong hand grips hers, maneuvers it gently until it's closed in a loose fist, all wrapped up in larger fingers. Cullen says nothing at all; he doesn't even look at her, eyes straining to keep up with the dwarf's unexplainable routine (gripping body, taking boots out, searching pockets, break staff, why is she checking what remains of the chest again?). He looks bluntly upset about the whole thing.
"If this was a date," she comments absently. "I think it could rate as one of the worst ever. Not that I ever had one. If you don't count Jowan taking me up and down the Tower then abandoning me in the library so we could sniff Lily's skirts."
The tendency to ramble is there – oddities tend to make her mind and mouth run a mile a minute – only more oddness joins the equation as Cullen suddenly freezes. His eyes are wide open, extremely blue, extremely surprised and beyond horrified. His hand releases hers like her skin is pure fire. It is like the idea physically hurts him.
Why does she even try?
Diana sighs and kicks him in the shin before the sheer idea kills him. He should be glad his armor didn't take a leaf out of the Arishok's book or she would take one out of Hawke's and turn him into a soprano.
"I didn't say anything!"
"You just looked like I jumped from beneath your bed dressed in a sheet."
Again come the wide eyes, against his shin goes the foot. He keeps begging for it, really.
"Are you done?"
Cullen raises both hands in a pacifying gesture, meant to possibly tell her that yes, he's done being a moron. Diana scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest; all the attitude of an confident female. He's likely just putting a head start on protection, in case she decides to kick him again.
"Let's just…" his eyes trace every line of their environment, carefully tiptoeing around everything, from floor, to creepy merchant, remains of demonic mage and working dwarf except for her. His cheeks are red enough to brighten whichever dark cavern the Old Gods are sleeping and Diana's sure she'd be able to bake something on his skin. Embarrassment's fun. "Go home. Let's go home," he finishes at last. "Huh. Miss?"
The dwarf doesn't look away from her task.
"Go away."
"I just need your na—"
"Go. Away."
Axe. Dward. Dead man. Diana tugs Cullen's arm once more, now more urgently. His foolishness is making an appearance again. And here she was, thinking he was evolving.
"Cullen, I'm giving you two choices."
Hm. Did she ever call him by his actual name? Diana can't remember. On a daily basis, she tends to lean towards idiot, Templar, commander and moron. All of them at once. So that's a no, she hasn't. Should she try using it more often? The horrified surprised look on his face isn't back. In fact, his whole expression has smoothed down, a soft, gentle, almost incredibly pleased countenance replacing it. It is sweet, in fact. So much that Diana stomps down on the sudden urge to go 'awwwwww' and replaces it with a Holy Crap, you can be cute. Is this one of those once-in-a-lifetime events but mentally, only mentally. Even she, in all her lack of proper social manners, knows speaking this out loud will turn that gaze into a frown and drive that stick all back in.
It's a good look on him. A cute one. A gentle one. It makes her forget he constantly carries a sword around in case mage shish kabob is on the menu. It makes her remember libraries at late hours and embarrassed glances and a man who came by every day while she was trapped behind metal, fearing how he might bring her death and brought her company and words instead.
The woman coughs lightly, clearing her throat. If her voice broke at any moment due to foolish sentimentality, why, she would just hurt herself.
"You either come with me so I can visit Hawke and have tea and cookies and perhaps dinner with my family," and far away from the murderous dwarf. "Or we're going up to the Gallows where I'm dragging you to have water and bread with my family. Though I remind you that while Leona's cool, Carver's a little bitch. Hawke's awesome all around."
Besides, no weird dwarf on either place.
"What about…?"
The axe gets stuck on a poor pigeon which happens to wander nearby.
"Right," Cullen backtracks quickly. "We're going now."
They hightail away from the homicidal thing before it tries to sharpen that axe even more on either of their bacon.
It takes her half way to the Hawke Estate for Diana to realize he didn't make her speak with any mage familiar to begin with. Why did he drag her out then? Just for the fun of it? Oh well, she thinks, opening her arms to receive Hawke's customary hug, it's likely not that important.
Meanwhile in the library, Cullen introduces his forehead to the wall repeatedly. Apparently, intelligence for magical subjects does not equal ability to realize when a man is attempting to woo a woman.
He just can't catch a break, the poor bastard.