Fool's Errand
by R2s Muse
Disclaimer: The Dragon Age setting and its characters belong to Bioware. I'm just borrowing!
Chapter Summary: The players start to assemble in Denerim for the peace talks, but Hawke is distracted by her desperate search for a missing Cullen. Meanwhile, Cullen learns more than he wanted to know about Hawke's previous incarceration three years previous.
Chapter 26: Ten
Two Days Before Peace Talks
Denerim
Ferelden
Two days before the peace talks there was still no sign of the mages. Alistair told Hawke to proceed with the expectation that the talks would take place, but the silence was worrisome.
More worrisome for Hawke was that she could still find no sign of Cullen. Her one short conversation with Varric that morning had been painfully awkward, and he had merely reiterated his conclusion that Cullen was no longer in Denerim. Now that she knew how Varric and the others felt, she could not ask them for any more help in her search. So she pressed on alone.
But, then she had received a curious lead, as some townsfolk in a mid-town inn had reported seeing someone of Cullen's description with the Hero of Ferelden. The appearance of the local hero was whispered all over town, like another tall tale. They said that Solona Amell had apparently shown up at the inn the night before, broken bread with the locals, and then disappeared again.
Such tales about the mysterious hero were inevitable, given how elusive she had been since she left Amaranthine. Hawke knew they were usually nonsense, since she heard the same things about herself, and they were always far-fetched, featuring appearances in countries she had never even visited. But in this case, the inn was one that Hawke knew well, having visited it only weeks earlier with Cullen. That, together with his personal connection to Solona Amell, gave the tale greater credence. It was also her only lead, so she would not let it go.
Hawke interviewed every person she could find who claimed to have been at the inn last night, but most only remembered the Warden. The few who had noticed the Warden's companion spoke of the couple canoodling like lovers. Unable to make heads or tales of the baffling stories, Hawke finally met someone who mentioned that one of the Banns had been there and actually had spoken with the Warden. So Hawke soon found herself headed to the palace district.
She knocked on the door of what was supposed to be the official residence of the Bann of Waking Sea, but she was not at home. Once Hawke probed, she learned that the Bann was an unusual woman who eschewed high society and more often was found in the Market District. Hawke was too anxious to begin another wild goose chase in the Market district without knowing the Bann by sight, so Hawke found herself coming back to the main gates and questioning the guards this time not about Cullen, but about something they were far more likely to remember: the Hero of Ferelden.
As she approached the gate, there remained a crowd of people trying to get in. Alistair's security measures had throttled down the rate of entry to a snail's pace. The guards at the gate were reticent to talk to her at first, until someone recognized her as the Champion of Kirkwall, and then they could not stop talking.
"Champion o' Kirkwall? Well, I'll be. You know Tug, he says he met the Hero of Ferelden the other day. The actual Maker-blessed Hero of Ferelden! Two heroes in Denerim has got to be good luck."
"Or bad," chimed in another guard. "Last time we had so many heroes here, the Archdemon landed on the top of Fort Drakon."
"Naw, it's good!" replied the first.
"So, this Tug," Hawke said, trying to get back to the point. "You say he claimed to have seen the Warden?"
"Seen her! He talked to her. Claims he was the one who let her into the city."
"Is he by any chance on duty today? I'd like to talk with him," Hawke said.
"Um, not sure. Not here at main gate. I'm on 'til midnight."
"Tug could be at the river gate," said the second guard.
"Oh yeah, river gate! Yeah, I would check there," said the first with an enthusiastic nod.
Eventually Hawke arrived at the river gate, where the city guard oversaw the river docks in the shadier part of town. She asked around and eventually was pointed to a man with beady eyes who looked at her suspiciously as she approached.
"Tug? Is that your name?" she asked.
"Depends on who's asking."
"I'm Hawke. I hear you met the Hero of Ferelden the other day. I wanted to ask you a few questions about it."
"Right, I did!" Tug said, needing no further inducement to discuss his brush with fame. "She was just like the picture books, standing tall with her fiery hair, and her staff alive with magic. She came in through the main gate, and I knew she was here on important business, so I made sure she got let in straightaway."
"Do you happen to know what that business was?"
"Important. Didn't you hear me?"
"I see," Hawke said, trying a different tack. "And, do you happen to recall if there was a man with her? Tall. Blond hair. Broad shoulders. Looks cross most of the time."
"You know, come to think of it, there was a brute with her. Curly hair. Frowny eyebrows. Worried he was going to start trouble when at first I didn't . . . I mean when at first I had to explain the rules about who can come in."
"You're sure? They were together?"
"Sure as the day is long. They definitely entered the city together."
"Do you know where they went?" she ask desperately.
"Naw." He shook his head. "Though I hear they was in the Market, some tavern, where she gave everyone her blessing for the coming year before disappearing again. Like Blessed Andraste herself."
Hawke had to work really hard not to roll her eyes at that one, but instead thanked him for his time with a few coins. Hawke turned to go, but then Tug stopped her with a hand her arm.
"Hold on. I just remembered somethin.' The Hero said she was here for the peace talks and was goin' to meet with Alistair and Elissa, you know, the King and Queen?"
"Yes, I'm familiar. So you think she was headed to the palace?"
"Maybe."
"Very well. Thank you again for your help, Tug."
Hawke started for the palace. Either Alistair already knew that Solona was here and had seen her, or he was clueless and Solona never made it to the palace. In either case, Hawke needed to talk to him.
It took her a few hours to track him down and arrange to speak to him privately, but when she did, she was glad she had taken that precaution.
"Solona? Is coming here? Are you certain?" Alistair said when she asked him. He immediately paled and started to pace. "Do you know why?"
Hawke just watched him for a few moments, before saying, "I take it this means that you haven't seen her yet?"
"Of course not! Are you serious? You think my marriage would still be intact if I had?" Alistair was literally sweating.
"Alistair, I think something may have happened. I've had several witnesses corroborate, more or less, that she came to town yesterday. But no one has seen her since. This is most troubling because apparently she made a rather public appearance in an inn in the market district, so the whole city is buzzing about her, and yet not one person has reported seeing her since then."
"You think she is in trouble?" He instantly sobered, his eyes becoming clear and calculating.
"I think she is," Hawke said with a sigh, "and what's worse is that I think Cullen was with her, and is now missing as well."
"Cullen? Didn't he . . . ? Didn't you . . .? What was it that Varric told me? That—"
"None of that matters now!" Hawke said, cutting him off before he started breaking her wounds open again. "I have to find him. And Solona."
"Very well. What do you need from me?"
"I know that the palace guard is committed to monitoring the peace talks day after tomorrow, but if there's anyone who could be spared to help me search the city, I would be grateful."
"I will see what I can do, but that will limit the number of guards overseeing the talks."
"I think we will be fine. At this rate, we may not have talks at all if the mages don't show up," she said sourly.
"Oh, they'll be here, Hawke. Have faith. No one wants peace more than they do, I'll wager. They're not the ones sitting in their Towers getting fat off the spoils of their holy war. The mages are scrabbling in the dirt, tooth and nail, to protect a better life for their children. They will come."
ooXXoo
When Cullen came to, he had no idea where he was, but at least this time, he could see. Before him were dark stone walls with spots of green growing at the joints where the slightly damp stones met. He was laying on his side again and flexed his hands to learn that they were free this time. The last thing he remembered was pain. Pain and the man with silver eyes, which begged the question of why he was not dead. He sat up slowly and probed his side with his fingers, feeling only a mild ache where the sword had pierced his gut. The skin was whole if uneven, with a slight indentation that pulled a bit, like it would if there were a newly formed scar. Someone had healed him and with considerable effort, given that the grave wound still left a mark. His next question was: for what purpose?
There were no signs of Solona. Dark cast iron bars closed one side of the empty, otherwise stone-walled cell. He closed his eyes and heard the murmur of men talking, a rattle of chains, the crackle of cheap torches, and the distant rush of water. There were no female voices that he could discern, nor any real clues as to his location, except that perhaps he was close to the river that ran the entire length of the city.
He crossed his arms atop his knees, chagrined that he could be in such similar dire straits now two times in the space of a fortnight. He actually chuckled at what Hawke would think of his predicament, but then he almost immediately regretted that thought, because the man who held him captive seemed to be the very same man with silver eyes that haunted her dreams.
Who was this man? And what did he want with Cullen? He could only hope, against all hope, that Anders's dire warnings had not finally come true, and that they would not use him against Hawke. That would be rather ironic, given that he no longer meant anything to her. Cullen sensed he was in for a very bad day.
The lack of natural light in the cell meant Cullen had no way of telling the passage of time, only that he waited for hours alone until finally footsteps echoed across the hard stones of the prison. Brisk steps that also clicked from iron shod on his boots. Cullen scrambled to his feet and moments later a man in a dark, billowing cloak strode through the entrance to the prison. Silver eyes glinted at Cullen from within the dark cloak as the man approached down the narrow corridor to the cell.
Hawke had spoken of the silver-eyed man's curious dispassion, of the punctuality of his interrogations, and of pain. Cullen tried to prepare himself for what was to come, but instinct drowned out reason as his mind flinched away from the splinters of memory now stirring. The fear rose hard and fast until the edges of his vision started to darken while his heart beat pounded loudly and erratically in his ears. He tried to dip into his survival techniques from Kinloch Hold, but they flitted just beyond recollection.
The room continued to darken, so he closed his eyes, willing himself to think of Hawke, holding onto the image. Her smile. The dimple that he loved. His burning need to protect her. His breathing slowed and his vision cleared. He looked within himself and realized that he would do whatever it took to try to keep her safe. Even if it meant his life, or worse, his mind.
The hooded man stopped in front of the bars and tilted his head, bird-like, to assess Cullen. Still not speaking, the man pushed back his hood to reveal features wholly unremarkable except for those odd silver eyes. Short, mousy brown hair framed a youthful visage that watched him curiously, with none of the signs of cruelty or depravity Cullen would have expected. The man steepled his hands before his lips in some kind of ritualized gesture, holding his fingertips together in such a way that Cullen could see each of the man's fingers and the strange tattoos lining each one. The tattoos were words, written in a fine, spidery script, and once Cullen looked closely, his stomach turned at what he recognized there.
On one hand, written along each finger like the line of a manuscript, it said:
Magic exists to serve man,
and never to rule over him.
And on the other hand:
All things are known to our Maker
And He shall judge their lies.
Cullen had never seen someone so devout as to inscribe the Chant into their very skin and he recoiled to think what kind of devotion it might require.
The man smiled at him, a smile devoid of malice but also of any trace of warmth. He smiled like it was just another mechanical ritual, designed to put someone at ease. "Cullen Rutherford. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. We have much to discuss."
"Where is Solona Amell?" Cullen demanded.
The man did not answer; he only studied. "Oh, and where are my manners? You may call me Ten, now that we will be spending some time together. So . . ." The man paused, clasping his hands together, and his silvery eyes gleamed in the dimness. "What shall we discuss today, Cullen?"
Cullen went cold, hearing those words that Marian had muttered so often from her nightmares, a refrain he had already guessed must have featured in her torture. He swallowed.
"I know!" Ten said, as if he had only now come upon a topic to discuss. "Let's talk about . . . Marian Hawke." The man's eyes lit up like this was one of his favorite subjects, but the odd silver color of his irises cast his interest as coolly malevolent.
"I won't tell you anything about her."
"Oh," Ten said, chuckling humorlessly, "you don't really have to. I know Marian quite well. Quite well. I daresay perhaps better even than you do. But then, that's really what we're here to discuss." Ten tilted his head again, as if trying to get a better angle on seeing into Cullen's thoughts. "So when did you first meet Marian? I don't believe you were part of her inner circle when last she and I spoke."
"You will pay for what you did to her," Cullen said in an intense voice that he almost did not recognize as his own.
"No need for threats. I am just here to talk. Tell me more about these feelings of revenge. And I sense perhaps a trace of ownership? When did those start?" Ten asked curiously.
Cullen jammed his mouth shut. He was damned if he would help this man in any way, whatever it was he wanted.
"She always valued friendship highly, her friends as important as family in a way. Prizing their lives, and their secrets, more highly than her own." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "So where exactly do you fit in? Former templar? An odd friend for someone of Marian's leanings. I imagine you must get on famously with Anders."
The steady stream of mild words from the man, and the discomfiting familiarity with which he spoke about Hawke, unnerved Cullen. He found himself listening, carried along by the words, and now reacting to them as he found himself glaring at the man at his mention of Anders.
"Ah, yes," Ten said, "that's what I thought. Not a fan of Anders. That must make your friendship with Marian complex. Or perhaps that is part of the allure for her?"
Cullen started at the suggestion, and Ten's keen eyes noted the reaction again. "Perhaps a templar makes perfect sense after so many years of pain and suffering at the hands of Anders and his mage-born ideals. Someone stolid, reliable, uncontroversial." Ten watched for a reaction to his inflectionless suppositions, but Cullen just glowered at him. "Yet also . . . broken?"
"You can't bait me," Cullen said.
Ten smiled again and continued to speak in his sing song voice, unhurriedly poking and probing about Cullen's relationship with Hawke. Whenever he hit upon an emotional reaction, Ten would zero in and redirect his questions with uncanny precision until eventually he had pieced together most of the story of Cullen's stuttered path toward falling in love with Marian Hawke. No matter how hard Cullen tried to suppress any reaction, the slightest quaver would reveal too much. Cullen felt unclean as Ten peeled back layer after layer of Cullen's resistance, lulling him with that voice and those strange silver eyes that saw everything Cullen tried to hide.
"With so much at stake this week, I do wonder that you're not together," Ten probed in his way of asking without asking. He kept returning to this point, of why Cullen insisted he was no longer involved with Hawke, and steadily became more insistent. "Tell me, Cullen, how could you leave her alone during such dangerous proceedings as the peace talks? Isn't she also overseeing security? One nervous mage, and she will have a disaster on her hands. She could use someone with your abilities, protecting her. Why aren't you with her?" Ten's placid face crinkled in puzzlement at last.
Cullen again said nothing, his own conflicted emotions about this issue finally making it easier to obscure his reaction altogether. Clearly, Ten was not pleased.
"Tell me," Ten said firmly, using his most direct tone of voice so far. "Tell me why you are not together, Cullen." He gazed into Cullen's eyes and silver flashed briefly.
Cullen opened his mouth, about to explain his fight with Hawke, but then gnashed his teeth back together. "You'll get nothing from me!" he gritted, fighting against the strange compulsion he suddenly felt to share more.
"Oh, that's where you're wrong," Ten said, his sing song voice now imbued with power that thrummed through the air. He looked into Cullen's eyes again, but this time his silver gaze sparked and glowed and Cullen could no longer look away. He was caught in a white hot fire that soothed as it scalded. "Why are you no longer together with Marian, Cullen? Tell me now." The words reverberated through Cullen's chest and then inside his head, keening with power as they wormed their way into Cullen's thoughts, burning and eating as they spread.
Cullen screamed, making sounds or words, he did not know, saying anything that came to mind, anything that would end the pain. But it went on, drowning out cogent thought, drilling through reason, burning it all away until just as suddenly, it stopped.
Everything was quiet, deathly quiet. Cullen was breathing heavily, but there was still no sound. Nothing. Not even his own breath or heartbeat. His breathing sped up and he took several more gulping breaths, listening desperately, drawing deep on any shred of calm he had left, until finally a wave of sound broke through. He heard his own exhalation of breath into the genuine stillness of his cell. He slowly opened his eyes to see that he had crumpled to the ground with his face pressed to the cool stone of the floor. His mouth throbbed and he tasted blood from where he must have split his lip on impact.
He sat up unsteadily to see Ten still standing in front of his cell. The man blinked owlishly at him. "Now we are getting somewhere. She told you to leave. You think she no longer cares about you. Interesting. And, unfortunately for you, not helpful at all. So let's talk a bit more."
Ten smiled as Cullen braced himself for more, holding tight to his memories of Hawke even as the man plundered them.
ooXXoo
One Day Before Peace Talks
Denerim
Ferelden
On the day before the talks, the Lord Seeker and his entourage moved into the Chantry compound with more fanfare than Hawke would have expected. Marchand immediately sent for her to attend him—attend being his actual word choice—and confirm all necessary details. Hawke asked Alistair if someone from his inner circle should also come, but Alistair demurred with his usual laissez faire attitude, leaving all the security arrangements to Hawke. She thought about bringing Varric, but in the past two days, things with her friends had gone from awkward to frigid.
"Maybe it's for the best that he's gone," Varric had started again that morning. "He's no good for you, Hawke.
"Don't say that!" she had snapped, the tension finally getting to her.
"I just don't want you to get your hopes up. Even if he is in trouble, and even if you do find him, and get him out of trouble, then what? You still have a boatload of problems to figure out."
"Then, I'll figure them out. But I'm not giving up on him."
"But—"
"No Varric! Don't! Not this time. I just . . . I can't. I just can't."
"All right." Varric only looked at her sadly without saying anything now, and Merrill, picking up on his mood, looked like she was constantly on the verge of tears.
Fenris was philosophical about the whole thing, as he always was, and would not take sides openly. But he glowered more than usual whenever Cullen's name was brought up. So Hawke did not.
In contrast, Anders had taken a renewed interest in her preparations for the talks, asking after her well-being, and generally being more agreeable than normal. He continued to ignore her desperate search for Cullen, however, pretending like Cullen had never even joined their group, which was almost worse than the accusatory silence of the others.
In the end, Hawke found herself responding to the Lord Seeker's summons alone.
She crossed the nave of the Chantry cathedral toward its more private sectors while her anxious need to return to the search for Cullen gnawed at her patience. As Alistair had pledged the day before, the palace guard had begun to assist in her search, but their thoroughness meant that Hawke was now tracking down countless slim leads that so far had all led nowhere. Her stomach twisted in knots as she passed the Red Lady's chapel, her eyes automatically scanning its empty pews for a sign. Anxiety drove her to walk faster and finish her business with the Lord Seeker quickly.
Eventually, Hawke got far enough into the inner sanctum that a chantry initiate questioned her presence there and, on learning Hawke's identity, led her the rest of the way in. They passed down a hallway ringing with the clang of arms and the shout of orders that signaled they had entered the templar barracks. Doors along the corridor opened up onto neat rows of bunks and a few larger rooms with soldiers marching in formation or sparring. The level of activity was much higher than Hawke remembered from her days visiting the Gallows in Kirkwall, but given the unusual circumstances in Kirkwall, she had no way of knowing what was normal for a templar barracks. The number of bodies and the level of training energy made her feel like they were preparing for something, but how that might relate to the peace talks, she was not sure.
Finally, the initiate took her through a large stone archway and into a bright, circular room high up in one of the towers that looked out over Denerim in all directions. Hawke exhaled in appreciation and immediately walked to the windows to see the view.
"Stunning, is it not?"
Hawke spun around to see the Lord Seeker behind her, smiling charismatically like he was the lord and master of the compound.
"It is," she replied.
Marchand clasped his hands behind his back and strode up to one of the windows. "Whenever I come to Denerim I request this room."
"I can see why. It's lovely," she said politely.
"You can see all the way to the Amaranthine Sea in one direction, and up both rivers in the other. It is almost impossible for someone to advance on you without your knowledge from this location. It is one of the reasons the templars of old built it here. It's alike in many ways to the impregnability of Fort Drakon." Marchand continued to gaze out the window while he spoke in a light, almost scholarly tone, but Hawke knew enough now to look for the double meaning in his words.
"I believe Fort Drakon was chosen for the talks, My Lord, not for its impregnability but for its historical significance," she said, matching his tone and vague smile. "So many people with disparate views and beliefs united here a decade ago to defeat the Archdemon and save Thedas from the Fifth Blight. It is that harmony of purpose we hope to reproduce at this newly historic meeting."
"Indeed, we can hope," Marchand replied before turning back to face her. "And so, here we are. The Templar Order answers Ferelden's call for peace. Have the mages also done as much?"
"We have not heard from them recently, but we anticipate they will arrive in time for the talks themselves."
"Ah yes. I had forgotten that they have trust issues with this meeting. Well, as you can see, we stand ready. To review, we may bring twenty four souls to Fort Drakon tomorrow, is that correct? Four to the peace table and no more than twenty for an honor guard?"
"Yes, that's right. But no weapons."
"An honor guard that bears no weapons," he said, his voice dripping in disdain.
"Yes, this was one of the mages' requirements."
"You are so accommodating," he murmured, eyes shining. "Some would say that the mages themselves are weapons. Are they allowed to come, too?"
Her temper started to fray at the Lord Seeker's constant jabs, and she wondered for the thousandth time why she had been thrust into the diplomat's role when she was so ill-suited for it. She half-expected the light touch of fingertips at the small of her back and a warm whisper in her ear of Easy, Grace.
The sudden jolt of bitter reality was enough for her to reign back in her bad temper. She smiled and laughed, like the Lord Seeker has just made a droll joke. "Indeed, My Lord, we are all dangerous in our own right when pushed too far. The important thing is that we adhere to the basic principle of coming to the table with open hands."
Cullen would have been impressed at that vapid syllogism, she thought proudly.
"So how will you ensure this, Champion? Will you collect weapons at the door?"
"Yes, something like that," she replied, still annoyed that it had somehow become her job, even if it was finally something she was qualified to do.
"And will the former Knight-Captain be there as well?" Marchand asked with glittering eyes.
She was taken off guard by the painful reminder. "I . . . I-It is unclear, My Lord, but I hope so," she said, trying to put on a brave face.
"Hmm, I thought he was something of a personal bodyguard for you."
"Um, h-he has left the city, but I anticipate he will be back in time. You need not worry, My Lord, the fort will be well protected."
"I see. I see," Marchand tutted, as if this answer was far more interesting than it really was. "And, here I thought there was something of a more . . . personal connection there."
"M-my Lord?" She was confounded that his questions would touch so sensitively on her heartbreak.
"The heart can be so easily betrayed. How craven of him."
"He isn't! He hasn't! How dare—" she snapped without thinking. "My apologies," she added softly, averting her eyes.
"No, I should apologize," Marchand said, nodding sagely. "Lost love is—"
"He will be back," she said quickly. "But then, our business is our own."
"Oh, I did not mean to pry into your personal life, Champion," he said, somehow smug. "I was only curious as to who would be present to ensure security at Fort Drakon. Will the palace guard or the city guard help you manage access?"
"The palace guard, actually," she said, trying not to be short with all his questions.
"Ah, yes, that makes sense. The city guard does have a kinship with Denerim's templars, after all."
"I, well, perhaps. I think it was simply expediency, but never fear, security is our priority." She cleared her throat, hoping to change the subject. "Was there anything else you needed, Lord Seeker? If you have other questions, I would be pleased to pass them onto the King."
"No, no, that is all. I look forward to seeing you again soon, Champion."
"And you as well, My Lord. Good day." More quickly than was polite, she turned on her heel and marched back the way she had come.
Once she exited the Chantry and had blended in with the city crowds, she took a deep breath to wash away the bad taste in her mouth from Marchand's uncomfortable questions. "What a waste of my time," she grumbled.
Whatever Marchand's purpose in calling her to the Chantry, she put it firmly out of her mind to focus on the latest clue, something about a scuffle in a shady neighborhood near the river. She would find out what happened to Cullen and Solona and not even the peace talks were going to slow her down.
A/N: I'm going to start post these more frequently now that I'm just about done with the series. The epilogue is with my beta, so the end is nigh! Woo hooo! Next: Chapter 27: Peace Talks, where the peace talks finally begin.